THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


\p- 


THE  LIFE  OF 
ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 


THE  LIFE  OF 

ROBERT  LOUIS 
STEVENSON 

BY 

GRAHAM    BALFOUR 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOLUME  n 


WITH  PORTRAITS 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

1901 


Copyright,  1901,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  October,  1901. 


THE  DEVINNE  PRESS 


Colleg* 
Library 


ff/f 

CONTENTS  ' 

CHAP.                                                                                                                      *    *    ^~  PAGB 

xi.  BOURNEMOUTH  —  1884-87.                .        .        .        .        .  I 

xii.  THE  UNITED  STATES—  1887-88.        .....  30 

xiii.  THE  EASTERN  PACIFIC—  1888-89       .....  50 

xiv.  THE  CENTRAL  PACIFIC  —  1889-91        .....  89 

xv.  VAILIMA  —  1891-94   ........  124 

xvi.  THE  END—  1894       ........  173 

XVH.  R.  L.  S  ..........        .194 

APPENDICES 

A.  ADDRESS  TO  SAMOAN  STUDENTS,  1890         ....  223 

B.  ADDRESS  ON  MISSIONS,  1893       ......  229 

c.  VAILIMA  PRAYERS       ........  232 

D.  SAMOAN  AFFAIRS        ........  237 

E.  FOUR  DRAFTS  OF  THE  BEGINNING  OF  "  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON  "  244 

F.  CHRONOLOGICAL  LIST  OF  THE  WRITINGS  OF  ROBERT  Louis 

STEVENSON          ........  248 

G.  INFLUENCES  AFFECTING  STEVENSON'S  STYLE  ....  262 
INDEX       ..........  265 


CHAPTER  XI 

BOURNEMOUTH—  1 884-87 

"  This  is  the  study  where  a  smiling  God 
Beholds  each  day  my  stage  of  labour  trod, 
And  smiles  and  praises,  and  I  hear  him  say: 
'  The  day  is  brief ;  be  diligent  in  play.' " 

R.  L.  S. 

'"T"*HE  next  three  years  Stevenson  was  to  spend  in  Eng- 
1  land— the  only  time  he  was  ever  resident  in  this 
country— and  then  Europe  was  to  see  him  no  more.  At 
first  sight  the  chronicle  of  this  time  would  seem  to  be 
more  full  of  interest  than  any  other  period  of  his  life. 
Treasure  Island,  his  "first  book,"  had  just  been  given 
to  the  world ;  the  year  after  his  return  A  Child's  Gar- 
den of  Verses  and  Prince  Otto  were  published,  and 
Jekyll  and  Hyde  and  Kidnapped  appeared  in  the  follow- 
ing year.  To  have  written  almost  any  one  of  these 
brilliant  yet  widely  dissimilar  books  would  be  to  chal- 
lenge the  attention  of  the  most  distinguished  contem- 
porary men  of  letters;  and  to  meet  Stevenson  at  this 
time  was  instantly  to  acknowledge  the  quality  and 
charm  of  the  man  and  the  strong  fascination  of  his  talk. 
For  the  whole  of  the  period  he  made  his  home  at 
Bournemouth,  within  easy  reach  of  London  visitors; 
and  in  London  itself  Mr.  Colvin  (who  had  now  become 
Keeper  of  Prints  at  the  British  Museum)  not  only  had  a 
house  always  open  to  him,  but  delighted  to  bring 
together  those  who  by  their  own  powers  were  best 
fitted  to  appreciate  his  society. 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Yet  the  reality  is  disappointing.  To  produce  brilliant 
writings  it  is  not  necessary  at  the  time  to  live  an  excit- 
ing or  even  a  very  full  life,  and  Stevenson's  health  de- 
prived him  more  and  more  of  the  ordinary  incidents 
which  happen  to  most  men  in  their  daily  course. 
Looking  back  on  this  period  in  after-days,  he  cries  out: 
"  Remember  the  pallid  brute  that  lived  in  Skerryvore 
like  a  weevil  in  a  biscuit."  Nearly  all  the  time  which 
was  not  devoted  to  contending  with  illness  was  taken 
up  with  his  work,  and  as  he  rarely  left  home  without 
returning  in  a  more  or  less  disabled  condition,  he  stayed 
in  his  own  house  and  led  the  most  retired  of  lives. 
Even  there  it  was  no  uncommon  experience  for  a  visitor 
who  had  come  to  Bournemouth  specially  to  see  him  to 
find  himself  put  to  the  door,  either  on  the  ground  of 
having  a  cold,  to  the  contagion  of  which  it  was  unsafe 
for  Stevenson  to  be  exposed,  or  because  his  host  was 
already  too  ill  to  receive  him. 

But  this  is  to  anticipate  matters.  On  his  return  from 
Royat  he  was  unable  to  be  present  at  the  matinee  on 
July  2nd,  at  the  Prince's  Theatre,1  when  the  Deacon 
was  played  by  Mr.  Henley's  brother.  The  play  had 
been  given  at  Bradford  eighteen  months  before,  and 
during  the  summer  of  1883  had  been  acted  by  a  travel- 
ling company  some  forty  times  in  Scotland  and  the 
North  of  England  without  any  marked  success.  It  was 
in  the  gallery  of  one  of  the  houses  where  it  was  per- 
formed that  the  complaint  was  heard  during  the  per- 
formance of  another  piece :  "  A  dunna  what 's  coom  to 
Thayter  Royal.  Thar 's  been  na  good  moorder  there  for 
last  six  months  " ;  and  the  Deacon's  fate  may  not  have 

*  Now  the  Prince  of  Wales'  Theatre. 


BOURNEMOUTH— 1884-87 

been  up  to  the  usual  standard.  The  play  was  now 
received  in  London  with  interest,  and  regarded  as  full 
of  promise  by  critics  who  knew  better  what  to  expect 
of  it,  but  the  lack  of  stage  experience  told  against  it, 
and  it  has  not  been  revived  in  this  country. 

Having  passed  a  few  days  in  a  hotel  at  Richmond, 
Stevenson  and  his  wife  went  down  to  Bournemouth, 
where  Lloyd  Osbourne  had  for  some  months  past  been 
at  school.  After  staying  at  a  hotel,  and  trying  first  one 
and  then  another  set  of  lodgings  on  the  West  Cliff,  at 
the  end  of  October  they  migrated  into  a  furnished  house 
in  Branksome  Park.  The  doctors  whom  he  consulted 
were  equally  divided  in  their  opinions,  two  saying  it 
would  be  safe  for  him  to  stay  in  this  country,  while 
two  advised  him  to  go  abroad;  and  in  the  end  he 
yielded  only  to  the  desire  to  be  near  his  father,  who, 
though  still  at  work,  was  evidently  failing  fast. 

Meanwhile  the  first  two  months  at  Bournemouth 
were  spent  chiefly  in  the  company  of  Mr.  Henley,  and 
were  devoted  to  collaboration  over  two  new  plays. 
The  reception  of  Deacon  Brodie  had  been  sufficiently 
promising  to  serve  as  an  incentive  to  write  a  piece 
which  should  be  a  complete  success,  and  so  to  grasp 
some  of  the  rewards  which  now  seemed  within  reach 
of  the  authors.  They  had  never  affected  to  disregard 
the  fact  that  in  this  country  the  prizes  of  the  dramatist 
are  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  payment  of  the  man  of 
letters,  and  already  in  1883  Stevenson  had  written  to 
his  father:  "The  theatre  is  the  gold-mine;  and  on  that 
1  must  keep  an  eye."  Now  that  they  were  again  able 
to  meet,  and  to  be  constantly  together,  the  friends  em- 
barked upon  some  of  the  schemes  they  had  projected 

3 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

long  ago,  and  no  doubt  had  talked  over  at  Nice  at  the 
beginning  of  the  year.  By  October  the  drafts  of  Beau 
Austin  and  Admiral  Guinea1  were  completed  and  set 
up  in  type;  and  in  the  following  spring,  at  the  sugges- 
tion of  Mr.  Beerbohm  Tree,  the  two  collaborators  again 
set  to  work  and  produced  their  English  version  of 
Macaire. 

These  were  to  have  been  but  the  beginning  of  their 
labours,  but  more  necessary  work  intervened,  and  the 
plays  were  never  resumed.2 

It  may  be  convenient  here  to  round  off  the  history  of 
Stevenson's  dramatic  writings:  early  in  1887  he  helped 
his  wife  with  a  play,  The  Hanging  Judge,  which  was 
not  completed  at  the  time  and  has  never  yet  been 
printed.  Except  for  an  unfinished  fragment,  intended 
for  home  representation  at  Vailima,  he  never  again 
turned  his  hand  to  any  work  for  the  stage.  Beau 
Austin  was  produced  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre  in 
1890,  Admiral  Guinea  and  Macaire  have  since  been 
performed,  and  all  the  plays  written  in  partnership  with 
Mr.  Henley  have  thus  been  seen  upon  the  stage,  though 

1  Letters,  ii.  362. 

2  A  list  in  Stevenson's  writing  shows  some  of  their  projects  at  the 
time,  though  it  is  certain  that  these  had  not  been  worked  out,  and  we 
may  doubt  whether  they  would  ever  have  been  seriously  considered. 
"  Farmer  George"  was  to  have  covered  the  whole  reign  of  George  the 
Third,  ending  with  a  scene  in  which  the  mad  king  recovered  for  a 
while  his  reason  :  — 

Deacon  Brodie  :  Drama  in  Four  Acts  and  Ten  Tableaux. 
Beau  Austin  :  Play  in  Four  Acts. 
Admiral  Guinea  :  Melodrama  in  Four  Acts. 
Honour  and  Arms  :  Drama  in  Three  Acts  and  Five  Tableaux. 
The  King  of  Clubs  :  Drama  in  Four  Acts. 
4 


BOURNEMOUTH- 1884-87 

none  of  them  have  kept  it.  The  want  of  practical 
stage-craft  may  partly  be  to  blame,  and  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  Stevenson,  at  any  rate,  had  not  been 
inside  a  theatre  since  his  return  from  America;  but 
their  chief  interest  lies  in  their  literary  quality,  and  it  is 
to  be  feared  that  Mr.  Archer  was  premature  in  his 
declaration  that  the  production  of  Beau  Austin  showed 
triumphantly  that  "the  aroma  of  literature  can  be 
brought  over  the  footlights  with  stimulating  and  ex- 
hilarating effect."1 

As  soon  as  the  two  finished  plays  were  laid  aside, 
husband  and  wife  began  to  put  together  the  second 
series  of  New  Arabian  Nights  from  the  stories  which 
Mrs.  Stevenson  had  made  up  to  while  away  the  hours 
of  illness  at  Hyeres.  Stevenson  wrote  the  passages 
relating  to  Prince  Florizel  and  collaborated  in  the  re- 
mainder; but  the  only  complete  story  of  his  invention 
in  the  book  was  "  The  Explosive  Bomb  " :  by  which  he 
designed  "  to  make  dynamite  ridiculous,  if  he  could  not 
make  it  horrible." 

Meanwhile,  on  receiving  an  application  from  the  pro- 

Pepys'  Diary :  Comedy. 

The  Admirable  Crichton  :  Romantic  Comedy  in  Five  Acts. 
Ajax  :  Drama  in  Four  Acts. 

The  Passing  of  Vanderdecken  :  (Legend!)  in  Four  Acts. 
Farmer  George:  Historical  Play  in  Five  Acts. 
The  Gunpowder  Plot :  Historical  Play  in 
Marcus  Aurelius:  Historical  Play 
The  Atheists  :  Comedy. 
The  Mother-in-Law  :  Drama. 
Madam  Fate:  Drama  in  a  Prologue  and  Four  Acts. 
Madam  Destiny  : 

1  The  World,  i2th  November,  1890. 

5 


LIFE   OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

prietor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  for  a  Christmas  story, 
he  attempted  to  produce  a  new  tale  for  the  occasion. 
It  proved,  however,  what,  in  the  slang  of  the  studio, 
he  called  a  "machine,"  and  "Markheim,"  which  was 
now  ready,  being  too  short,  as  a  last  resource  he  be- 
thought himself  of  "The  Body  Snatcher,"  one  of  the 
"tales  of  horror"  written  at  Pitlochry  in  1881,  and 
then  "laid  aside  in  a  justifiable  disgust."  It  was  not 
one  of  his  greater  achievements,  and  would  probably 
have  excited  little  comment,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
gruesome  and  unauthorized  methods  of  advertisement. 
Soon  afterwards  he  successfully  concluded  negotia- 
tions for  a  Life  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  which  he 
was  commissioned  to  write  for  the  series  of  "  Eng- 
lish Worthies,"  edited  by  Mr.  Andrew  Lang.  The 
military  genius  of  the  strategist  had  long  dazzled 
Stevenson,  who  had  also  been  deeply  fascinated  by  the 
study  of  his  character.  I  will  not  say  that  to  him  the 
man  who  wrote  the  Letters  to  Miss  J.  was  as  remark- 
able as  the  victor  of  Waterloo,  but  it  is  certain  that  the 
great  soldier  became  twice  as  interesting  on  account  of 
that  marvellous  correspondence.  According  to  Mr. 
Gosse,  special  emphasis  was  to  be  given  to  the  humour 
of  Wellington,  and  certainly  the  biography  was  by  no 
means  to  be  restricted  to  his  military  career.  Three 
years  before,  Stevenson  had  written  to  his  father  about 
a  book  on  George  the  Fourth,  perhaps  the  Greville 
Memoirs :  "  What  a  picture  of  Hell !  Yet  the  punish- 
ment of  the  end  seemed  more,  if  possible,  than  he  had 
deserved.  Iron-handed  Wellington  crushing  him  in 
his  fingers;  contempt,  insult,  disease,  terror— what  a 
haunted,  despicable  scene!" 

6 


BOURNEMOUTH- 1884-87 

The  book,  however,  although  it  was  in  Stevenson's 
mind  for  several  years  and  was  advertised  as  "  in  prepa- 
ration," was  never  written,  or,  so  far  as  I  know,  even 
begun.  Not  the  least  interesting  part  of  the  whole 
story  is  the  picture  of  Stevenson  sitting  down  to  ad- 
dress a  letter  of  inquiries  to  Mr.  Gladstone,  for  whose 
political  career  he  had  always  the  most  complete 
aversion,  and  finding  himself,  somewhat  to  his  dis- 
may, overcome  with  an  involuntary  reverence  for 
the  statesman  who  embodied  so  much  of  England's 
past. 

Casting  about  for  a  new  story,  he  turned  in  February 
to  the  highroad,  that  to  him  and  to  his  father  before 
him  had  for  long  been  one  of  the  richest  fields  of  ro- 
mance. When,  to  his  delight,  he  had  first  found  his 
powers  of  narrative  in  Treasure  Island,  and  discovered 
what  possibilities  |lay  before  him  of  writing  for  boys 
the  kind  of  stories  he  liked  himself,  he  announced  with 
glee  to  Mr.  Henley  that  his  next  book  was  to  be  "Jerry 
Abershaw :  A  Tale  of  Putney  Heath."  x  He  was  also  to 
write  "The  Squaw  Men:  or,  The  Wild  West,"  and  of 
this  one  chapter  was  actually  drafted.  The  new  ven- 
ture was,  however,  called  "The  Great  North  Road," 
but,  like  St.  Ives  in  later  days,  it  rapidly  increased  in 
proportions  and  in  difficulty  of  management.  So  at  the 
end  of  the  eighth  chapter  it  was  relinquished  for  Kid- 
napped and  apparently  dropped  out  of  sight.  Already 
in  its  beginnings  it  showed  an  increase  of  skill  in 
dealing  with  Nance  Holdaway,  who  foreshadowed 
other  heroines  yet  to  come. 

By  the  end  of  January  so  successful  had  the  winter 

1  Letters,  i.  223.    Cf.  "A  Gossip  on  Romance." 
7 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

been  that  Thomas  Stevenson  bought  a  house  at  Bourne- 
mouth as  a  present  for  his  daughter-in-law.  Its 
name  was  forthwith  changed  to  Skerryvore,  in  com- 
memoration of  the  most  difficult  and  beautiful  of  all  the 
lighthouses  erected  by  the  family.1  It  was  no  great 
distance  from  where  they  were  already  living:  a  mod- 
ern brick  house,  closely  covered  with  ivy;  and  from 
the  top  windows  it  was  possible  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  sea.  There  was  half  an  acre  of  ground,  very  charm- 
ingly arranged,  running  down  from  the  lawn  at  the 
back,  past  a  bank  of  heather,  into  a  chine  or  small 
ravine  full  of  rhododendrons,  and  at  the  bottom  a  tiny 
stream. 

Mrs.  Stevenson  at  once  started  off  for  Hyeres,  whence 
she  returned  with  their  books  and  other  belongings. 
The  new  house,  however,  was  not  ready  for  their  oc- 
cupation until  the  end  of  April,  and  when  the  move 
was  made,  to  no  one  did  it  bring  greater  satisfaction 
than  to  Stevenson. 

Wanderer  as  he  was,  and  still  gave  the  impression 
of  being,  he  entered  into  his  new  property  with  a  keen- 
ness of  delight  that  must  have  amused  those  of  his 
friends  who  remembered  his  former  disparagement  of 
all  household  possessions.2  "Our  drawing-room  is 
now  a  place  so  beautiful  that  it 's  like  eating  to  sit  in  it. 
No  other  room  is  so  lovely  in  the  world;  there  I  sit  like 
an  old  Irish  beggarman's  cast-off  bauchle  in  a  palace 
throne-room.  Incongruity  never  went  so  far;  I  blush 
for  the  figure  I  cut  in  such  a  bower." 

The  large  dovecot  is  commemorated  in  Underwoods  ; 
the  garden  was  an  endless  pleasure  to  Mrs.  Stevenson,  , 

1  See  vol.  i.  p.  n.  2  Vol.  i.  p.  176. 

8 


BOURNEMOUTH- 1884-87 

and  having  long  been  the  domain  of  "  Boguey  "  in  his 
lifetime,  became  at  last  his  resting-place.  Having  been 
sent  to  hospital  to  recover  from  wounds  received  in 
battle,  he  broke  loose,  in  his  maimed  state  attacked 
another  dog  more  powerful  than  himself,  and  so  per- 
ished. His  master  and  mistress  were  inconsolable,  and 
never,  even  in  Samoa,  could  bring  themselves  to  allow 
any  successor. 

I  have  already  referred  to  the  easy  access  to  Bourne- 
mouth, which  was,  of  course,  a  prime  consideration 
with  his  parents.  But  Stevenson's  friends  had  seen 
little  of  him  for  several  years  past,  so  in  this  also  there 
was  a  welcome  change  from  Hyeres.  Nearly  all  the 
old  and  tried  companions  whom  I  have  mentioned 
came  to  Skerryvore  during  these  years:  R.  A.  M. 
Stevenson  and  his  wife,  and  his  sister,  Mrs.  de  Mattos, 
and  her  children;  Miss  Ferrier,  Mr.  Baxter,  Professor 
Jenkin  and  Mrs.  Jenkin,  Mr.  Colvin,  and  Mr.  Henley  all 
paid  more  or  less  frequent  visits.  Among  the  new- 
comers were  Mr.  Sargent,  who  twice  came  to  paint  his 
host's  portrait;  Mr.  James  Sully,  an  old  friend  at  the 
Savile  Club;  Mr.  William  Archer,  who  owed  his  first 
coming  to  his  severe  but  inspiring  analysis  of  Steven- 
son, and  remained  as  one  of  the  most  valued  of  his 
critics  and  appreciative  of  his  friends;  and  last  and  most 
welcome  of  the  admissions  into  the  inmost  circle,  his 
very  dear  friend,  Mr.  Henry  James. 

One  of  the  most  frequent  visitors  was  R.  A.  M. 
Stevenson,  who  had,  after  some  time,  decided  to  give 
up  the  thankless  task  of  producing  pictures  for  the 
public  which  were  not  those  he  wanted  to  paint,  and 
to  use  his  technical  knowledge  and  matchless  powers 

9 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

of  exposition  in  the  criticism  of  art.  That  other  art  of 
writing,  however,  which  Louis  had  spent  his  life  in 
learning,  could  not  be  mastered  in  a  day  for  the  pur- 
poses of  journalism  even  by  so  brilliant  a  talker  as  Bob, 
and  it  fell  to  Louis  and  Mr.  Henley  to  give  him  many 
hints  and  put  him  through  an  apprenticeship  in  the 
technical  part  of  the  new  profession  in  which  he  so 
rapidly  made  his  mark. 

Nor  were  the  residents  of  Bournemouth  to  be  over- 
looked, although  (besides  Dr.  Scott,  to  whom  Under- 
woods was  chiefly  dedicated,  and  Mrs.  Boodle  and  her 
daughter,  the  "  Gamekeeper "  of  the  Letters)  close 
friendship  was  confined  to  two  families— Sir  Henry 
Taylor  and  his  wife  and  daughters,  and  Sir  Percy  and 
Lady  Shelley.  Sir  Percy,  the  son  of  the  poet,  was 
devoted  to  yachting  and  the  theatre  (especially  melo- 
drama), and  his  genial,  kindly  nature,  in  which  shrewd- 
ness and  simplicity  were  most  attractively  blended, 
endeared  him  to  his  new  as  to  all  his  old  friends,  while 
Lady  Shelley,  no  less  warm-hearted,  took  the  greatest 
fancy  to  Louis,  and  discovering  in  him  a  close  likeness 
to  her  renowned  father-in-law,  she  forthwith  claimed 
him  as  her  son. 

But  it  was  the  Taylors  with  whom  he  lived  in  more 
intimate  relations  in  spite  of  the  impression  he  seems 
here  again  to  have  produced  of  a  being  wholly  transi- 
tory and  detached,  a  bird  of  passage  resting  in  his  flight 
from  some  strange  source  to  regions  yet  more  un- 
known. Sir  Henry  indeed  died  almost  before  the 
friendship  had  commenced,  but  Lady  Taylor  and  her 
daughters  continued  to  live  at  Bournemouth  until  long 
after  Skerryvore  was  transferred  to  other  hands. 

10 


BOURNEMOUTH- 1884-87 

But  before  Sir  Henry  Taylor  passed  away,  Stevenson 
had  suffered  a  more  unexpected  and  a  heavier  blow  in 
the  death  of  his  friend  Fleeming  Jenkin  on  June  I2th, 
1885.  Only  once  again  in  his  life  was  he  to  lose  one 
very  near  to  him,  and  the  subsequent  task  of  writing 
his  friend's  life  not  only  raised  his  great  admiration,  but 
even  deepened  the  regret  for  his  loss. 

To  some  of  his  friends  in  these  days,  and  chiefly  to 
Miss  Una  Taylor,  Mrs.  Jenkin,  Mr.  Henley,  and  his 
cousin  Bob,  he  owed  the  revival  of  his  interest  in  music, 
which  now  laid  greater  hold  upon  him  than  ever  before. 
He  began  to  learn  the  piano,  though  he  never  reached 
even  a  moderate  degree  of  skill;  he  flung  himself  with 
the  greatest  zeal  into  the  mysteries  of  composition, 
wherein  it  is  but  honest  to  say  that  he  failed  to  master 
the  rudiments.  "  Books  are  of  no  use, "  he  says ;  "  they 
tell  you  how  to  write  in  four  parts,  and  that  cannot  be 
done  by  man.  Or  do  you  know  a  book  that  really  tells 
a  fellow?  I  suppose  people  are  expected  to  have  ears. 
To  my  ear  a  fourth  is  delicious,  and  consecutive  fifths 
the  music  of  the  spheres.  As  for  hidden  fifths,  those 
who  pretend  to  dislike  'em  I  can  never  acquit  of  affec- 
tation. Besides  (this  in  your  ear)  there  is  nothing  else 
in  music;  I  know;  I  have  tried  to  write  four  parts." 

His  delight  and  eagerness  were  enhanced  rather  than 
decreased  by  difficulties,  and  in  a  period  of  his  life 
when  nearly  all  pleasures  were  taken  away  from  him, 
he  was  able  at  least  to  sit  at  the  piano  and  create  for  the 
ear  of  his  imagination  some  of  the  heavenly  joys  it  is 
the  prerogative  of  music  to  bestow.  ' 

Besides  enjoying  the  company  of  his  friends,  he  made 
good  use  of  his  few  other  opportunities.  Since  at 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Bournemouth  his  health  hardly  ever  allowed  him  to  pass 
beyond  the  gate  of  Skerryvore,  the  chance  seldom  pre- 
sented itself  to  him  of  meeting  men  of  any  other  class 
whose  lives  lay  outside  his  own,  but  those  who  fell  in 
his  way  received  unusual  attention  at  his  hands,  more 
especially  if  they  possessed  originality  or  any  indepen- 
dence of  character.  Thus,  the  barber  that  came  to  cut 
his  hair,  the  picture-framer,  the  "vet"  who  attended 
"  Boguey,"  each  in  their  different  way  were  originals  to 
a  man  whose  life  was  so  secluded;  their  coming  was 
welcomed,  they  invariably  stayed  to  meals,  and,  sooner 
or  later,  told  the  story  of  their  lives. 

Such  was  his  own  life,  and  such  were  his  surround- 
ings at  this  period;  and  yet  to  leave  the  picture  without 
a  word  of  warning  would  be  wholly  to  misrepresent 
Stevenson.  A  popular  novelist,  toiling  incessantly  at 
his  writing,  and  confined  by  ill-health  almost  entirely 
within  the  walls  of  a  suburban  villa  at  an  English 
watering-place,  is  about  as  dreary  a  figure  as  could  be 
formed  from  the  facts.  The  details  are  as  accurate  as 
if  they  were  in  a  realistic  novel,  and  yet  the  essence  is 
wholly  untrue  to  life.  It  is  necessary  to  insist  again 
and  again  on  the  "  spirit  intense  and  rare,"  the  courage, 
the  vivacity,  the  restless  intellect  ever  forming  new 
schemes  with  unceasing  profusion.  There  are  people 
who  might  live  a  life  of  the  wildest  adventure,  of  the 
most  picturesque  diversity,  and  yet  be  dull.  Stevenson 
could  lie  in  a  sick-room  for  weeks  without  speaking, 
and  yet  declare  truly,  as  he  asserted  to  Mr.  Archer,  "  I 
never  was  bored  in  my  life."  When  everything  else 
failed,  and  he  was  entirely  incapable  of  work,  he  would 
build  card-houses,  or  lie  in  bed  modelling  small  figures 

12 


BOURNEMOUTH- 1884-87 

of  wax  or  clay,  taking  the  keenest  interest  in  either 
process.  On  being  told  that  a  friend  of  his  "  has  fallen 
in  love  with  stagnation,"  from  his  invalid  chair  he  pro- 
tests that  the  dream  of  his  life  is  to  be  "  the  leader  of  a 
great  horde  of  irregular  cavalry,"  and  his  favourite  atti- 
tude "  turning  in  the  saddle  to  look  back  at  my  whole 
command  (some  five  thousand  strong)  following  me  at 
the  hand-gallop  up  the  road  out  of  the  burning  valley 
by  moonlight."1  In  him  at  least  the  romantic  day- 
dream called  out  as  completely  the  splendid  virtues  of 
courage  and  enterprise  and  resolution  as  he  could  ever 
have  displayed  them  on  the  field  of  battle. 

Illness  and  anxiety  had,  as  he  afterwards  said,  put  an 
end  to  the  happiness  of  Hyeres,  but  he  was  maintain- 
ing the  unequal  fight  with  much  of  the  spirit  and  gaiety 
that  he  always  showed;  his  sufferings  did  not  dull  the 
kindliness  and  sympathy  which  largely  formed  the  fas- 
cination of  his  character,  unique,  perhaps,  in  being  at 
once  so  lovable  and  so  brilliant. 

In  the  meantime  he  was  hard  at  work.  His  interest 
in  all  questions  relating  to  the  methods  of  literature  was 
unfailing.  A  lecture  from  Sir  Walter  Besant  and  an 
answer  by  Mr.  Henry  James  brought  Stevenson  in  his 
turn  into  the  pages  of  Longman's  Magazine  for  Decem- 
ber, 1884.  In  "  A  Humble  Remonstrance  "  he  urged  the 
paramount  claims  of  the  "  story  "  in  fiction,  and  dwelt 
on  the  problems  involved  for  the  student  of  method. 
Several  months  later  he  followed  this  up  by  a  most  in- 
spiring but  more  strictly  professional  disquisition  on 
"The  Technical  Elements  of  Style,"  "the  work  of  five 
days  in  bed,"  which  appeared  in  the  Contemporary 

1  Letters,  i.  311. 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Review  for  April.  At  the  time  it  was  ill  received  and 
generally  misunderstood:  it  is,  however,  the  result  of 
long  and  close  study,  and  is  a  singularly  suggestive  in- 
quiry into  a  subject  which  has  been  considered  too 
vague  and  difficult  for  analysis,  at  any  rate  since  the 
days  of  the  classical  writers  on  rhetoric,  whom  Steven- 
son had  never  read.  He  continued  to  meditate  and  to 
develop  his  ideas,  and  during  1886  had  even  planned  a 
course  of  lectures  to  be  delivered  in  London  to  students 
of  his  art.  So  full  of  the  subject  was  he  that  when  this 
project  was  peremptorily  forbidden  by  the  doctors,  he 
could  not  rest  until  he  found  a  pupil  to  whom  he  could 
disburden  himself  of  the  ideas  with  which  he  was  over- 
flowing. 

In  March,  1885,  A  Child's  Garden  of  Verses  was  pub- 
lished at  last,  after  having  been  set  up  twice  in  proof. 
In  April  Prince  Otto  began  to  run  in  Longman's  Maga- 
%ine,  coming  out  as  a  book  in  October,  and  by  May 
More  New  Arabian  Nights  appeared.  Soon  after  the 
issue  of  Prince  Otto,  Stevenson  wrote  to  Mr.  Henley: 
"  I  had  yesterday  a  letter  from  George  Meredith,  which 
was  one  of  the  events  of  my  life.  He  cottoned  (for  one 
thing),  though  with  differences,  to  Otto;  cottoned  more 
than  my  rosiest  visions  had  inspired  me  to  hope;  said 
things  that  (from  him)  I  would  blush  to  quote."  Mr. 
Meredith's  letter  unfortunately  has  disappeared,  but  in 
another  from  the  same  source  there  occur  these  words : 
"  I  have  read  pieces  of  Prince  Otto,  admiring  the  royal 
manner  of  your  cutting  away  of  the  novelist's  lumber. 
Straight  to  matter  is  the  secret.  Also  approvingly  your 
article  on  style." 

Still,  with  all  this  production,  and  with  praise  from 

'4 


BOURNEMOUTH- 1884-87 

so  high  a  quarter,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  Steven- 
son's writing  as  yet  brought  in  any  very  extravagant 
payment.  His  professional  income  for  this  year,  in 
point  of  fact,  was  exactly  the  same  as  that  which  he 
had  averaged  for  the  three  years  preceding,  and 
amounted  to  less  than  four  hundred  pounds.  Nor  were 
his  receipts  materially  increased  before  he  reached 
America. 

A  subject  much  in  his  thoughts  at  this  time  was  the 
duality  of  man's  nature  and  the  alternation  of  good  and 
evil;  and  he  was  for  a  long  while  casting  about  for  a 
story  to  embody  this  central  idea.  Out  of  this  frame 
of  mind  had  come  the  sombre  imagination  of  "  Mark- 
heim,"  but  that  was  not  what  he  required.  The  true 
story  still  delayed,  till  suddenly  one  night  he  had  a 
dream.  He  awoke,  and  found  himself  in  possession  of 
two,  or  rather  three,  of  the  scenes  in  The  Strange  Case 
of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde. 

Its  waking  existence,  however,  was  by  no  mear.. 
without  incident.  He  dreamed  these  scenes  in  consid- 
erable detail,  including  the  circumstance  of  the  trans- 
forming powders,  and  so  vivid  was  the  impression  that 
he  wrote  the  story  off  at  a  red  heat,  just  as  it  had  pre- 
sented itself  to  him  in  his  sleep. 

"  In  the  small  hours  of  one  morning,"  says  Mrs.  Ste- 
venson, "  I  was  awakened  by  cries  of  horror  from  Louis. 
Thinking  he  had  a  nightmare,  I  awakened  him.  He 
said  angrily :  '  Why  did  you  wake  me  ?  I  was  dreaming 
a  fine  bogey  tale.'  I  had  awakened  him  at  the  first 
transformation  scene." 

Mr.  Osbourne  writes :  "  I  don't  believe  that  there  was 
ever  such  a  literary  feat  before  as  the  writing  of  Dr. 

'5 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Jekyll.  I  remember  the  first  reading  as  though  it  were 
yesterday.  Louis  came  downstairs  in  a  fever;  read 
nearly  half  the  book  aloud;  and  then,  while  we  were 
still  gasping,  he  was  away  again,  and  busy  writing.  I 
doubt  if  the  first  draft  took  so  long  as  three  days." 

He  had  lately  had  a  hemorrhage,  and  was  strictly 
forbidden  all  discussion  or  excitement.  No  doubt  the 
reading  aloud  was  contrary  to  the  doctor's  orders;  at 
any  rate  Mrs.  Stevenson,  according  to  the  custom  then 
in  force,  wrote  her  detailed  criticism  of  the  story  as  it 
then  stood,  pointing  out  her  chief  objection— that  it 
was  really  an  allegory,  whereas  he  had  treated  it  purely 
as  if  it  were  a  story.  In  the  first  draft  Jekyll's  nature 
was  bad  all  through,  and  the  Hyde  change  was  worked 
only  for  the  sake  of  a  disguise.  She  gave  the  paper  to 
her  husband  and  left  the  room.  After  a  while  his  bell 
rang;  on  her  return  she  found  him  sitting  up  in  bed 
(the  clinical  thermometer  in  his  mouth),  pointing  with  a 
long  denunciatory  finger  to  a  pile  of  ashes.  He  had 
burned  the  entire  draft.  Having  realised  that  he  had 
taken  the  wrong  point  of  view,  that  the  tale  was  an  al- 
legory and  not  another  "Markheim,"  he  at  once  de- 
stroyed his  manuscript,  acting  not  out  of  pique,  but  from 
a  fear  that  he  might  be  tempted  to  make  too  much  use 
of  it,  and  not  rewrite  the  whole  from  a  new  standpoint. 

It  was  written  again  in  three  days  ("  I  drive  on  with 
Jekyll :  bankruptcy  at  my  heels  ") ;  but  the  fear  of  losing 
the  story  altogether  prevented  much  further  criticism. 
The  powder  was  condemned  as  too  material  an  agency, 
but  this  he  could  not  eliminate,  because  in  the  dream  it 
had  made  so  strong  an  impression  upon  him. 

"The  mere  physical  feat,"  Mr.  Osbourne  continues, 

16 


BOURNEMOUTH- 1884-87 

"was  tremendous;  and  instead  of  harming  him,  it 
roused  and  cheered  him  inexpressibly."  Of  course  it 
must  not  be  supposed  that  these  three  days  represent 
all  the  time  that  Stevenson  spent  upon  the  story,  for 
after  this  he  was  working  hard  for  a  month  or  six 
weeks  in  bringing  it  into  its  present  form. 

The  manuscript  was  then  offered  to  Messrs.  Long- 
mans for  their  magazine;  and  on  their  judgment  the 
decision  was  taken  not  to  break  it  up  into  monthly  sec- 
tions, but  to  issue  it  as  a  shilling  book  in  paper  covers. 
The  chief  drawbacks  of  this  plan  to  the  author  were 
the  loss  of  immediate  payment  and  the  risk  of  total  fail- 
ure, but  these  were  generously  met  by  an  advance  pay- 
ment from  the  publishers  on  account  of  royalties. 
"The  little  book  was  printed,"  says  Mr.  Charles  Long- 
man, "  but  when  it  was  ready  the  bookstalls  were  al- 
ready full  of  Christmas  numbers,  etc.,  and  the  trade 
would  [not  look  at  it.  We  therefore  withdrew  it  till 
after  Christmas.  In  January  it  was  launched— not  with- 
out difficulty.  The  trade  did  not  feel  inclined  to  take 
it  up,  till  a  review  appeared  in  the  Times l  calling  atten- 
tion to  the  story.  This  gave  it  a  start,  and  in  the  next 
six  months  close  on  forty  thousand  copies  were  sold  in 
this  country  alone."  Besides  the  authorised  edition  in 
America,  the  book  was  widely  pirated,  and  probably 
not  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  million  copies  in  all  have 
been  sold  in  the  United  States. 

Its  success  was  probably  due  rather  to  the  moral  in- 
stincts of  the  public  than  to  any  conscious  perception  of 
the  merits  of  its  art.  It  was  read  by  those  who  never 
read  fiction,  it  was  quoted  in  pulpits,  and  made  the  sub- 

1  The  Times,  January  25th,  1886. 
ii  17 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

ject  of  leading  articles  in  religious  newspapers.  But 
the  praise,  though  general,  was  not  always  according 
to  knowledge,  as,  for  example,  in  one  panegyric,  which 
lauded  "  a  new  writer,  following  in  some  detail,  perhaps 
more  of  style  than  matter,  the  much  regretted  Hugh 
Con  way."  Yet  even  this  criticism  by  no  means  repre- 
sents the  extreme  range  of  its  circulation. 

But  as  literature  also  it  was  justly  received  with  en- 
thusiasm. Even  Symonds,  though  he  doubted  "  whether 
any  one  had  the  right  so  to  scrutinise  the  abysmal 
depths  of  personality,"  admitted,  "The  art  is  burning 
and  intense";  and  the  cry  of  horror  and  pain  which  he 
raised  was  in  another  sense  a  tribute  to  its  success. 
"  How  had  you  the  ilia  dura  f err o  et  cere  triplici  duri- 
ora  to  write  Dr.  Jekyll  ?  I  know  now  what  was  meant 
when  you  were  called  a  sprite." 1 

In  his  "  Chapter  on  Dreams,"  Stevenson  has  told  his 
readers  how  the  "  brownies  "  suddenly  became  useful 
in  providing  him  with  stories  for  his  books,  but  in  spite 
of  this  statement  it  appears  that  besides  Jekyll  and  Hyde 
there  is  only  one  other  plot  thus  furnished  which  he 
ever  actually  completed.  This  was  "  Olalla,"  which  ap- 
peared in  the  Christmas  number  of  the  Court  and  Society 
Review;  in  connection  with  it  there  arises  an  interesting 
point— an  apparent  plagiarism  from  the  Strange  Story 
by  Lord  Lytton.  In  either  tale  a  squirrel  is  caught  in 
the  boughs  of  a  tree  by  a  semi-human  youth  and  is 
shortly  afterwards  killed.  It  is  true  that  Margrave  slays 
the  animal  in  revenge  for  a  bite,  whereas  Stevenson's 
Felipe  deliberately  tortures  the  innocent  creature,  but  the 

ljobn  /tddington  Symonds:  a  Biography.  By  Horatio  F.  Brown. 
London,  Nimmo,  1895. 

18 


BOURNEMOUTH- 1884-87 

agility  and  the  lack  of  humanity  are  the  gist  of  both 
episodes.  Beside  the  account  in  "  Dreams  "  must  be  set 
Stevenson's  own  statement  that  his  invention  of  Felipe 
was  in  part  deliberate,1  and  it  is  impossible  now  to  say 
whether  (if  the  resemblance  was  more  than  accidental) 
the  incident  came  back  into  the  author's  mind  in  his 
sleep  or  in  his  waking  hours. 

With  the  general  result  he  was  never  well  satisfied. 
To  Lady  Taylor  he  wrote :  "  The  trouble  with  '  Olalla ' 
is,  that  it  somehow  sounds  false.  .  .  .  The  odd  prob- 
lem is :  What  makes  a  story  true  ?  '  Markheim  '  is  true ; 
'Olalla'  false;  and  I  don't  know  why,  nor  did  I  feel  it 
while  I  worked  at  them ;  indeed  I  had  more  inspiration 
with  'Olalla,'  as  the  style  shows.  I  am  glad  you 
thought  that  young  Spanish  woman  well  dressed;  I  ad- 
mire the  style  of  it  myself,  more  than  is  perhaps  good 
for  me ;  it  is  so  solidly  written.  And  that  again  brings 
back  (almost  with  the  voice  of  despair)  my  unanswer- 
able: Why  is  it  false  ?  " 

Kidnapped  was  begun  in  March,  1885,  as  another  story 
for  boys,  and  with  as  little  premeditation  as  afterwards 
sufficed  for  its  sequel.  But  when  once  the  hero  had 
been  started  upon  his  voyage,  the  tale  was  laid  aside 
and  not  resumed  until  the  following  January,  just  after 
the  publication  ofjekyll  and  Hyde.  No  greater  contrast 
can  be  imagined  than  the  strong,  healthy,  open-air  life 
of  the  new  book  and  the  dark  fancies  of  the  allegory 
which  preceded  it.  Though  the  former  was  the  product 
of  his  waking  hours,  it  was  no  less  spontaneous  than  a 
dream. 

"  In  one  of  my  books,  and  in  one  only,  the  characters 

1  In  tbe  Soutb  Seas,  p.  353. 
•9 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

took  the  bit  in  their  teeth ;  all  at  once,  they  became  de- 
tached from  the  flat  paper,  they  turned  their  backs  on 
me  and  walked  off  bodily;  and  from  that  time  my  task 
was  stenographic— it  was  they  who  spoke,  it  was  they 
who  wrote  the  remainder  of  the  story." J 

But  within  two  months  Stevenson  began  to  flag,  and 
not  long  after  a  visit  for  his  father's  sake  to  Matlock, 
where  he  had  made  small  progress  with  the  writing,  he 
decided,  at  Mr.  Colvin's  suggestion,  to  break  off  with 
David's  return  to  Edinburgh  and  leave  the  tale  half  told. 
Mr.  Henderson  gladly  accepted  the  story  for  Young 
Folks,  where  it  ran  under  Stevenson's  own  name  from 
May  to  July,  and  was  then  published  by  Messrs.  Cassell 
&  Co. 

It  was  dedicated  to  Mr.  Baxter,  whose  permission 
was  asked  in  a  letter  indicating  its  character  and  show- 
ing its  author's  capacity  in  dialect,  if  he  had  ever  had  a 
mind  to  let  it  run  riot  in  his  pages.  "  It 's  Sc&tch,  sir: 
no  strong,  for  the  sake  o'  thae  pock-puddens,  but  jist  a 
kitchen  o't,  to  leaven  the  wersh,  sapless,  fushionless, 
stotty,  stytering  South  Scotch  they  think  sae  muckle  o'." 

The  whole  took  him,  as  he  said,  "  probably  five 
months'  actual  working;  one  of  these  months  entirely 
over  the  last  chapters,  which  had  to  be  put  together 
without  interest  or  inspiration,  almost  word  for  word, 
for  I  was  entirely  worked  out."  But  as  a  whole,  the 
author  thought  it  the  best  and  most  human  work  he 
had  yet  done,  and  its  success  was  immediate  with  all 
readers.  To  mention  two  instances  only:— Matthew 
Arnold,  who  apparently  knew  Stevenson's  work  little, 
if  at  all,  before  this,  was  at  once  filled  with  delight,  and 

1  Scribner's  Magazine,  1888,  p.  764. 
20 


BOURNEMOUTH— 1884-87 

we  are  told  that  it  was  the  last  book  Lord  Iddesleigh 
was  able  to  read  with  pleasure—"  a  volume,"  continues 
Mr.  Lang,  "  containing  more  of  the  spirit  of  Scott  than 
any  other  in  English  fiction." 

The  elder  Stevenson  had  for  several  years,  as  we  have 
seen,  been  declining  in  health  and  spirits,  and  the  shad- 
ows began  to  close  about  his  path.  In  1885  he  grad- 
ually reduced  the  amount  of  his  work,  though  he  still 
continued  his  practice,  and  could  not  altogether  refuse 
the  solicitations  he  received  to  appear  as  a  scientific 
witness  before  Parliamentary  Committees. 

The  tenderness  of  the  relation  between  father  and  son 
now  became  pathetic  in  the  extreme.  As  the  old  man's 
powers  began  to  fail,  he  would  speak  to  Louis  as 
though  he  were  still  a  child.  When  they  went  to  the 
theatre  together,  and  Louis  stood  up  in  his  place,  the 
father  put  his  arm  round  him,  saying:  "Take  care, 
my  dearie,  you  might  fall."  At  night,  as  he  kissed  his 
son,  he  would  say  reassuringly:  "  You  '11  see  me  in  the 
morning,  dearie."  "It was, "says  his  daughter-in-law, 
"  just  like  a  mothei  with  a  young  child." 

It  was  chiefly  in  the  summers  and  autumns  that  Louis 
left  Bournemouth,  but  even  then  he  rarely  travelled  any 
distance  or  was  absent  for  any  length  of  time.  In  1885 
he  went  to  London  in  June,  and  then  accompanied  his 
wife  on  a  last  visit  to  Cambridge,  to  stay  with  Mr. 
Colvin,  who  was  now  resigning  his  professorship.  In 
August  he  started  for  Dartmoor,  but  after  meeting  Mr. 
Thomas  Hardy  and  his  wife  at  Dorchester,  was  laid  up 
with  a  violent  hemorrhage  at  Exeter,  in  the  hotel,  and 
was  compelled  to  remain  there  for  several  weeks  before 
he  was  able  to  return  home.  In  the  following  year  he 


LIFE   OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

went  to  town  in  June,  and  again  in  August,  the  latter 
time  extending  his  journey  to  Paris  in  the  company  of 
his  wife  and  Mr.  Henley,  to  see  their  friends  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  W.  H.  Low,  then,  after  a  long  interval,  revisiting 
France  for  the  first  time. 

Meeting  once  more  in  their  early  haunts,  the  old 
friends  revived  many  memories.  One  trivial  reminis- 
cence of  this  occasion  is  yet  so  characteristic  of  Steven- 
son, and  so  illustrates  the  working  of  his  mind,  that  it 
may  find  a  place  here.  The  two  friends,  painter  and 
writer,  both  possessing  a  fine  palate  for  certain  wines, 
had  always  laughed  at  one  another's  pretensions  to  such 
taste.  In  1875  or  1876,  soon  after  Mr.  Low's  marriage, 
he  and  his  wife  had  gone  to  dine  with  Stevenson  at  the 
Musee  de  Cluny  in  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel.  Mr.  Low 
hesitating  for  a  moment  in  his  choice  of  a  wine,  Steven- 
son turned  to  Mrs.  Low,  and  on  the  spot  made  up  and 
elaborately  embellished  a  story  of  how  her  husband  had 
once  gone  with  him  to  dine  at  a  restaurant,  and  had 
tasted  and  rejected  every  vintage  the  establishment 
was  able  to  offer.  At  last— so  the  tale  ran— the  pro- 
prietor confessed  that  there  was  one  bottle  even  finer 
in  his  cellar,  which  had  lain  there  forty  years,  but  that 
he  was  ready  to  give  it  up  to  such  a  master,  although 
it  was  like  surrendering  a  part  of  his  life.  A  procession 
was  formed,  first  the  proprietor,  then  the  cellarman, 
then  the  waiters  of  the  establishment,  and  they  all  went 
down  to  the  cellar  to  get  the  famous  bottle.  Back  they 
came  in  the  same  order  with  the  priceless  treasure  borne 
tenderly  in  the  arms  of  the  cellarman,  a  man  with  a  long 
beard  down  to  his  waist,  who  had  been  so  much  in  the 
cellar  that  the  light  made  him  blink.  Slowly  and  rev- 

22 


BOURNEMOUTH- 1884-87 

erently  they  approached  the  table,  and  then  they  all 
sighed.  The  bottle  was  deliberately  and  ceremoniously 
uncorked,  and  the  wine  poured  into  small  glasses,  while 
the  waiters  looked  on  with  breathless  reverence.  The 
two  connoisseurs  touched  glasses  and  slowly  carried 
them  to  their  lips.  There  was  absolute  silence.  All 
eyes  were  upon  them,  and  when  they  drank  deeply  and 
expressed  their  satisfaction,  the  whole  establishment 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Mrs.  Low  now  reminded  Stevenson  of  this  story,  and 
he,  declaring  it  was  no  "story,"  but  an  historical  ac- 
count of  what  had  actually  happened,  repeated  it  word 
for  word  as  he  had  originally  told  it.  When  he  came 
to  the  end,  he  added,  "  And  the  cellarman,  overcome 
with  emotion,  dropped  dead."  As  he  said  these  words, 
he  saw  by  his  hearers'  faces  that  this  was  a  divergence 
from  the  original  tale,  and  added  quickly,  "  That  about 
the  cellarman  is  not  really  true!" 

The  quickness  with  which  he  caught  the  first  sign  of 
surprise  at  the  only  variation,  and  the  readiness  with 
which  he  recovered  himself,  were  no  less  characteristic 
of  Stevenson,  as  Mr.  Low  truly  says,  than  the  fact 
that  the  story  of  his  invention  took  so  concrete  a  form 
in  his  mind  that,  perhaps  without  its  having  recurred 
to  his  memory  in  all  the  interval,  he  was  able  to  give 
the  identical  words  and  details  as  they  had  originally 
presented  themselves  to  him. 

An  old  project  had  this  year  been  revived  by  Mr. 
Gilder  of  a  boat-voyage  down  the  Rhone  to  be  written 
by  Stevenson  and  illustrated  by  Mr.  Low,  but  the 
former's  health  was  now  too  precarious  for  even  the 
most  luxurious  of  such  journeys.  His  visit  to  Paris, 

23 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

however,  was  most  successful,  its  chief  event  being  a 
visit  to  Rodin  the  sculptor,  to  whom  Mr.  Henley  intro- 
duced him.  He  came  home  in  what  was  for  him  ex- 
ceptionally good  health;  but  returning  in  October  to 
The  Monument— his  invariable  name  for  Mr.  Colvin's 
house  at  the  British  Museum— he  did  not  escape  so 
easily.  The  second  holiday  began  delightfully,  for  it 
was  on  this  occasion  that  he  met  some  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  his  elders  in  the  world  of  letters  and 
of  art— especially,  as  Mr.  Colvin  records,  Browning, 
Lowell,  and  Burne-Jones.  But  soon  the  visitor  was 
taken  ill,  confined  to  bed,  and  unable  to  return  home 
until  the  very  end  of  November,  when  a  succession  of 
fogs  made  the  danger  of  remaining  in  London  greater 
than  the  risk  of  any  journey. 

This  autumn  there  occurred  a  curious  event  in  Steven- 
son's literary  career,  which  is  recorded  only  in  a  letter  to 
his  mother,  "fib  Sept.,  1886.—  ...  I  have  just 
written  a  French  (if  you  please!)  story  for  a  French 
magazine!  Heaven  knows  what  it's  like;  but  they 
asked  me  to  do  it,  and  I  was  only  too  pleased  to  try." 

Mr.  Osbourne  and  Mrs.  de  Mattos  alone  of  the  inti- 
mates of  that  time  remember  the  fact,  but  whether  the 
tale  was  ever  despatched  to  its  destination,  or  what  that 
destination  was,  are  questions  that  can  no  longer  be 
answered.  Although  Stevenson  had  a  wide  and  full 
vocabulary,  and  spoke  French  with  a  good  accent  and 
complete  fluency,  it  seems  certain  that  he  had  not  the 
perfect  knowledge  of  the  language  nee  ssary  for  serious 
composition.  He  once  wrote  a  French  dedication  in  a 
book  which  he  presented  to  Mrs.  Low,  prefacing  it 
with  the  statement—"  I  am  now  going  to  make  several 

24 


BOURNEMOUTH- 1884-87 

mistakes,"  as  in  fact,  says  her  husband,  he  immediately 
proceeded  to  do. 

By  this  time  he  had  begun  to  write  the  Memoir  of 
his  friend  Jenkin,  the  only  biography  which  he  ever 
actually  carried  to  an  end.  A  few  months  later  Mrs. 
Jenkin  came  to  Skerry  vore  to  afford  him  what  assistance 
he  needed,  and  of  his  method  of  dealing  with  the  work, 
she  has  given  us  a  description. 

"  I  used  to  go  to  his  room  after  tea,  and  tell  him  all  I 
could  remember  of  certain  times  and  circumstances. 
He  would  listen  intently,  every  now  and  then  checking 
me  while  he  made  a  short  note,  or  asking  me  to  repeat 
or  amplify  what  I  had  said,  if  it  had  not  been  quite 
clear.  Next  morning  I  went  to  him  again,  and  he  read 
aloud  to  me  what  he  had  written— my  two  hours  of 
talk  compressed  into  a  page,  and  yet,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  all  there,  all  expressed.  He  would  make  me  note 
what  he  had  written  word  by  word,  asking  me,  '  Does 
this  express  quite  exactly  what  you  mean  ? '  Some- 
times he  offered  me  alternative  words,  '  Does  this  ex- 
press it  more  truly?  '  If  I  objected  to  any  sentence  as 
not  conveying  my  meaning,  he  would  alter  it  again  and 
again— unwearied  in  taking  pains." 

His  life  in  England  led  him  to  take  both  in  home  and 
in  foreign  politics  a  closer  interest  than  he  had  felt  be- 
fore. He  was  deeply  moved  during  these  years  by  two 
events,  though  neither  in  the  end  led  to  any  action  on 
his  part,  nor  even  an  open  Declaration  of  his  views. 
These  were  the  death  of  Gordon  and  a  case  of  boycot- 
ting women  in  Ireland. 

In  1884  he  had  felt  acutely  the  withdrawal  of  the 
garrisons  from  the  Soudan.  "  When  I  read  at  Nice  that 

25 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Graham  was  recalled  from  Suakim  after  all  that  butch- 
ery, I  died  to  politics.  I  saw  that  they  did  not  regard 
what  I  regarded,  and  regarded  what  I  despised;  and  I 
closed  my  account.  If  ever  I  could  do  anything,  I  sup- 
pose I  ought  to  do  it;  but  till  that  hour  comes,  I  will 
not  vex  my  soul." 

This  was  no  passing  wave  of  sentiment;  Gordon's 
fate  was  laid  even  more  deeply  to  heart,  and  one  of  the 
motives  which  induced  Stevenson  to  begin  his  letters 
to  the  Times  upon  Samoan  affairs  was  the  memory  that 
in  1884  he  had  stood  by  in  silence  while  a  brave  man 
was  being  deserted  and  a  population  dependent  for  help 
on  the  government  of  this  country  was  handed  over  to 
the  mercies  of  barbarism.  So  when  he  finally  came  to 
the  point  of  writing  the  letter  to  Mr.  Gladstone  about 
the  Iron  Duke,1  he  could  think  of  no  other  signature 
open  to  him  than  "Your fellow-criminal  in  the  eyes  of 
God,"  and  forbore. 

But  although  the  passionate  indignation  and  "that 
chastity  of  honour  which  felt  a  stain  like  a  wound  " 
were  highly  characteristic  of  Stevenson,  at  the  most 
they  could  have  led  to  nothing  more  than  a  series  of 
letters  to  the  papers.  They  might  have  stirred  the 
public  conscience,  but  though  Stevenson  would  have 
been  dealing  with  matters  less  remote  from  the  know- 
ledge of  his  readers,  yet  his  part  in  any  agitation  or 
protest  would  not  have  differed  greatly  from  his  efforts 
in  the  cause  of  Samoa.  The  other  project,  on  the  con- 
trary, would,  if  he  had  been  able  to  carry  it  out,  have  led 
to  a  definite  and  entire  change  of  the  whole  course  of 
his  life.  On  November  I3th,  1885,  Mr.  John  Curtin  had 

1  See  vol.  ii.  p.  7. 
26 


BOURNEMOUTH  - 1 884-87 

been  murdered  by  a  party  of  moonlighters  in  his  house, 
Castle  Farm,  at  Castle  Island,  County  Kerry.  His 
grown-up  sons  and  daughters  had  shown  the  greatest 
courage,  and  one  of  the  murderers  had  been  shot.  For 
this  the  family  were  cut  off  as  far  as  possible  from  all 
the  necessaries  of  life,  and  in  April,  1887,  the  boycott 
still  continued.  Stevenson,  while  admitting  the  wrongs 
of  Ireland,  had  always  the  most  profound  regard  for  the 
paramount  claims  of  the  law,  and  had  long  been  shocked 
both  by  the  disregard  of  it  in  Ireland  and  by  the  callous 
indifference  of  the  English  to  the  needs  of  those  en- 
gaged in  its  support.  He  now  pitched  upon  the  case 
of  the  Curtin  family  as  a  concrete  instance  in  which  it 
behoved  England  to  do  her  duty,  and  since  no  one  else 
was  forthcoming  for  the  task,  he  prepared  to  offer  him- 
self as  an  agent,  and,  if  need  were,  a  martyr  in  the 
cause.  As  a  man  of  letters  he  was  not  tied  down  to 
any  one  place  to  do  his  work,  so  he  proposed  to  take 
the  Curtins'  farm  and  there  live  with  his  wife  and  his 
stepson.  His  wife  added  her  protests  to  those  of  all 
his  friends  who  heard  of  the  project,  but  in  vain,  and 
so  without  sharing  his  illusions  she  cheerfully  prepared 
to  accompany  him. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  more  quixotic  design. 
Many  of  the  objections  to  it  Stevenson  realised  himself, 
or  was  told  by  his  friends.1  But  perhaps  he  never  sus- 
pected how  little  he  understood  the  Irish,  or  how  utterly 
futile  his  action  would  have  proved.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  he  hardly  ever  came  into  contact  with  Irishmen  at 
any  time  during  his  life,  was  probably  misled  by  false 
inferences  from  the  Highlanders  as  to  Celtic  peculiari- 

1  Letters,  ii.  27.     This  letter  belongs,  however,  to  1887. 

27 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

ties,  and  in  the  principal  Irishman  whom  he  drew— 
Colonel  Burke  in  The  Master  of  Ballantrae—he  has  not 
carried  conviction.1  But  these  considerations,  even  if 
they  had  been  brought  home  to  him,  would  equally 
have  failed  to  move  him,  and  it  was  nothing  but  his 
father's  illness  which  kept  him  for  the  time  in  this 
country.  He  abandoned  the  design  with  reluctance, 
and,  as  Mr.  Colvin  says,  "  to  the  last  he  was  never  well 
satisfied  that  he  had  done  right  in  giving  way." 

It  was  driven  from  his  mind,  however,  by  events 
which  touched  him  more  nearly.  In  the  autumn  his 
parents  had  taken  a  house  in  Bournemouth  for  the 
winter,  that  Mr.  Stevenson  might  have  the  companion- 
ship of  his  son.  For  some  time  after  they  came  Louis 
was  laid  up  in  London,  and  even  when  he  returned  he 
was  too  ill  to  see  much  of  his  father  or  to  have  any 
cheering  influence  upon  him.  In  February  Thomas 
Stevenson  was  taken  by  his  wife  to  Torquay,  but  came 
back  to  Bournemouth  on  the  ist  of  April.  By  the 
2ist  he  was  so  ill  that  it  was  thought  better  to  bring 
him  home,  and  he  returned  to  Edinburgh.  The  ac- 
counts of  him  grew  so  alarming  that  Louis  followed 
on  the  6th  of  May,  but  was  too  late  for  his  coming  to 
be  of  any  use,  and  on  the  8th  all  was  over. 

Of  the  son's  affection  and  of  his  appreciation  for  his 
father  enough  has  been  said  to  show  how  great  the 
sense  of  his  loss  must  have  been.  The  shock  of  having 
found  his  father  no  longer  able  to  recognise  him  preyed 
upon  his  mind,  and  for  some  time  to  come  he  was 
haunted  day  and  night  with  "  ugly  images  of  sickness, 

1  Mac,  the  Ulsterman  in  The  Wrecker,  is  better,  but  would  not  have 
helped  his  creator  much  in  Kerry. 

28 


BOURNEMOUTH- 1884-87 

decline,  and  impaired  reason,"  which  increased  yet 
further  his  sadness  and  the  physical  depression  that 
weighed  him  down. 

In  the  meantime  he  took  cold,  was  not  allowed  to 
attend  the  funeral,  and  never  left  the  house  until,  at  the 
end  of  May,  he  was  able  to  return  to  Bournemouth,  and 
quitted  Scotland  for  the  last  time. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   UNITED  STATES — 1887-88 

"  But,  indeed,  I  think  we  all  belong  to  many  countries.  I  am  a 
Scotchman,  touch  me  and  you  will  find  the  thistle;  1  am  a  Briton,  and 
live  and  move  and  have  my  being  in  the  greatness  of  our  national 
achievements;  but  am  I  to  forget  the  long  hospitality  of  that  beautiful 
and  kind  country,  France  ?  Or  has  not  America  done  me  favours  to 
confound  my  gratitude?  Nay,  they  are  all  my  relatives;  1  love  them  all 
dearly;  and  should  they  fall  out  among  themselves  (which  God  in  his 
mercy  forbid  !),  I  believe  1  should  be  driven  mad  with  their  conflicting 
claims  upon  my  heart."  —  R.  L.  S.,  MS.  of  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

THE  chief  link  which  bound  Stevenson  to  this  country 
was  now  broken,  for  his  mother  was  free  to  follow 
him  and  his  wife  to  whatever  climate  the  advice  of 
the  doctors  might  send  him.  Year  after  year  the 
struggle  with  ill-health  was  becoming  more  painful; 
"an  enemy  who  was  exciting  at  first,  but  has  now,  by 
the  iteration  of  his  strokes,  become  merely  annoying 
and  inexpressibly  irksome."  He  seemed  condemned  to 
a  life  in  the  sick-room,  and  even  there  to  be  steadily 
losing  ground.  Under  the  altered  circumstances,  his 
uncle,  Dr.  George  Balfour,  peremptorily  insisted  on  a 
complete  change  of  climate  for  a  year,  suggesting  a  trial 
of  either  one  of  the  Indian  hill-stations  or  Colorado;  this 
advice  was  reinforced  by  his  Bournemouth  physician, 
Dr.  Scott,  and  for  several  obvious  reasons  America  was 
preferred.  As  soon  as  his  mother's  promise  to  accom- 
pany the  party  was  obtained,  Skerry  vore  was  let,  and  by 
the  middle  of  July  their  tickets  were  taken  for  New  York. 

30 


THE   UNITED  STATES- 1887-88 

Early  in  the  same  month  he  had  written  to  his  mother : 
".  .  .  I  can  let  you  have  a  cheque  for  £ i oo  to-morrow, 
which  is  certainly  a  pleasant  thing  to  be  able  to  say.  I 
wish  it  had  happened  while  my  father  was  still  here;  I 
should  have  liked  to  help  him  once —  perhaps  even  from 
a  mean  reason :  that  he  might  see  I  had  not  been  wrong 
in  taking  to  letters.  But  all  this,  I  daresay,  he  observes, 
or,  in  some  other  way,  feels.  And  he,  at  least,  is  out 
of  his  warfare,  as  I  could  sometimes  wish  I  were  out  of 
mine.  The  mind  of  the  survivor  is  mean;  it  sees  the 
loss,  it  does  not  always  feel  the  deliverance.  Yet 
about  our  loss,  I  feel  it  more  than  I  can  say  —  every 
day  more — that  it  is  a  happy  thing  that  he  is  now 
at  peace." 

But  the  invalid  was  not  to  escape  from  England 
without  another  illness ;  worn  as  he  was  by  his  recent 
experiences,  he  once  more  broke  down,  and  was  laid 
up  again  with  hemorrhage. 

On  the  soth  August,  however,  he  left  Bournemouth 
for  London,  and  spent  Sunday  in  the  city,  at  Armfield's 
Hotel.  Here  those  of  his  closest  friends  who  at  that 
season  were  within  reach  came  to  bid  him  farewell,  a 
last  good-bye  as  it  proved  for  all,  since  he  never  saw 
any  one  of  them  again.  "  In  one  way  or  another,"  he 
had  written,  "life  forces  men  apart  and  breaks  up  the 
goodly  fellowships  for  ever,"  and  he  himself  was  now 
to  become  "  no  more  than  a  name,  a  reminiscence,  and 
an  occasional  crossed  letter  very  laborious  to  read."  l 

As  Mr.  Colvin  had  been  the  first  to  welcome  him  on 
his  return  from  America,  so  he  was  the  last  to  take 
leave  of  him  the  next  day,  when  the  party  of  five  —  for 

1  yirginibus  Puerisque,  chap.  i. 
3« 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Valentine  Roch  accompanied  them  —  embarked  on  the 
steamship  Ludgate  Hill. 

The  beginning  of  their  voyage  was  an  unpleasant 
surprise,  for  their  passages  had  been  taken  in  ignorance 
that  the  ship  was  used  as  a  cattle-boat,  and  it  was  only 
when  the  family  came  on  board  that  they  learned  that 
they  were  going  to  put  in  at  Havre  for  their  cargo  before 
sailing  for  America.  But  Stevenson,  ill  as  he  was,  did 
not  allow  mere  discomfort  to  affect  him.  His  mother's 
diary  contains  an  entry  highly  characteristic  both  of 
herself  and  of  her  son  :  "We  discover  that  it  is  a 
cattle-ship,  and  that  we  are  going  to  Havre  to  take  in 
horses.  We  agree  to  look  upon  it  as  an  adventure  and 
make  the  best  of  it.  ...  It  is  very  amusing  and  like  a 
circus  to  see  the  horses  come  on  board."  Not  only  was 
there  a  shipload  of  horses,  but  the  vessel  resembled  the 
fleet  of  Ophir  at  least  in  this,  that  she  carried  a  consign- 
ment of  apes;  of  which  "the  big  monkey,  Jacko, 
scoured  about  the  ship,"  and  took  a  special  fancy  to 
Stevenson.  The  other  passengers  were  not  unenter- 
taining,  and  the  voyage  itself  was  to  him  a  pure  delight, 
until  they  came  to  the  Banks  of  Newfoundland,  where 
he  again  caught  cold.  "  I  was  so  happy  on  board  that 
ship,"  he  wrote  to  his  cousin  Bob;  "I  could  not  have 
believed  it  possible.  We  had  the  beastliest  weather, 
and  many  discomforts;  but  the  mere  fact  of  its  being 
a  tramp-ship  gave  us  many  comforts;  we  could  cut 
about  with  the  men  and  officers,  stay  in  the  wheel- 
house,  discuss  all  manner  of  things,  and  really  be  a 
little  at  sea.  And  truly  there  is  nothing  else.  I  had 
literally  forgotten  what  happiness  was,  and  the  full 
mind  —  full  of  external  and  physical  things,  not  full  of 

32 


THE  UNITED  STATES- 1887-88 

cares  and  labours  and  rot  about  a  fellow's  behaviour. 
My  heart  literally  sang;  I  truly  care  for  nothing  so  much 
as  for  that."1 

By  this  time  his  reputation  had  crossed  the  Atlantic, 
and,  chiefly  by  means  of  Jekyll  and  Hyde,  had  spread 
there  to  an  extent  which  he  had  probably  not  yet 
realised.  The  first  indication  reached  him,  however, 
before  he  had  sighted  the  coast-line  of  the  States,  for, 
on  September  6th,  when  the  pilot  came  on  board,  it 
turned  out  that  he  was  known  on  his  boat  as  Hyde, 
while  his  better-tempered  partner  was  called  Jekyll. 

The  next  day  the  Ludgate  Hill  arrived  at  New  York, 
where  Stevenson  was  met  by  a  crowd  of  reporters, 
and — what  was  more  to  his  taste  —  by  his  old  friend, 
Mr.  Will  H.  Low.  He  was  forthwith  carried  off  to  an 
hotel  where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles  Fairchild  had  made 
all  arrangements  for  his  reception,  and  the  next  day  he 
proceeded  to  their  house  at  Newport.  But  on  the 
journey  he  caught  fresh  cold,  and  spent  a  fortnight  there 
chiefly  in  bed. 

On  his  return  to  New  York  he  saw  a  few  people, 
mostly  old  friends  like  Mr.  Low  and  his  wife,  and  first 
made  the  personal  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Charles  Scribner 
and  Mr.  Burlingame.  Mr.  St.  Gaudens,  the  eminent 
American  sculptor,  now  began  to  make  the  necessary 
studies  for  the  large  medallion,  which  was  not  com- 
pleted until  five  years  later.  It  is  the  most  satisfactory 
of  all  the  portraits  of  Stevenson,  and  has  been  repro- 
duced with  one  or  two  slight  modifications  for  the 
memorial  in  St.  Giles"  Cathedral.  The  artist  was  a  great 
admirer  of  Stevenson's  writings,  and  had  said  that  if  he 

1  Letters,  ii.  67. 
«  33 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

ever  had  the  chance  he  would  gladly  go  a  thousand 
miles  for  the  sake  of  a  sitting.  The  opportunity  came 
to  his  doors,  and  he  made  a  sketch  of  the  head  and  one 
hand,  though  it  was  not  until  the  following  spring  that 
he  was  able  to  complete  his  drawings. 

At  this  time  the  popularity  of  Stevenson's  work  in 
America  was  attested  also  by  its  appearance  on  the 
stage;  not  only  were  there  two  dramatised  versions  of 
Dr.Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde  upon  the  boards,  but  Deacon 
Brodie  was  shortly  afterwards  produced  in  Philadelphia 
by  an  English  company. 

For  the  dramatisation  of  his  story  Stevenson  was  of 
course  in  no  way  responsible,  but  the  publicity  and  the 
advertisement  of  his  name  had  naturally  the  effect  of 
enabling  publishers  to  offer  better  terms  for  his  work. 
He  had  already  contributed  to  American  magazines  for 
several  years,  in  the  first  instance  to  the  Century,  and 
then  to  the  new  periodical  of  Messrs.  Scribner,  for  which 
he  now  undertook  to  write  a  series  of  twelve  articles 
during  the  ensuing  year.  For  this  he  was  to  receive 
^700,  and  this  bargain  was  followed  shortly  afterwards 
by  an  offer  of  ;£  1600  from  another  firm  for  the  Ameri- 
can serial  rights  of  his  next  story.  The  first  proposal 
of  all,  from  the  New  York  World,  was  ^2000  for  an 
article  every  week  for  a  year;  but  this  he  had  refused. 
In  February,  1883,  he  had  written  to  his  mother:  "My 
six  books  (since  1878)  have  brought  me  in  upwards  of 
;£6oo,  about  ^400  of  which  came  from  magazines." 
So  great  was  the  change  in  four  years.  It  must  be  re- 
membered that  in  England  also  he  had  now  reached 
the  turning-point  of  his  fortunes;  and  early  in  the  fol- 
lowing year  he  became  a  member  of  the  Athenaeum 

34 


THE  UNITED  STATES- 1887-88 

Club  in  London  under  the  rule  permitting  the  commit- 
tee to  elect  nine  persons  annually  "as  being  of  distin- 
guished eminence  in  Science,  Literature  or  the  Arts,  or 
for  Public  Services."  In  this  very  year  it  had  been  found 
worth  while  to  collect  and  republish  with  additions  such 
of  his  stories,  essays,  and  verse  as  had  hitherto  appeared 
only  in  magazines.  But  though  the  change  was  not 
solely  due  to  the  greater  enterprise  of  American  pub- 
lishers, it  is  none  the  less  striking. 

His  first  need,  however,  for  the  present  was  to  select 
a  climate  where  he  could  best  pass  the  winter.  He 
had  come  to  America  in  search  of  health,  but  the  infor- 
mation he  received  in  New  York  dissuaded  him  from 
Colorado  Springs,  which,  situated  as  it  is  nearly  six 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  would  have  deprive4  him 
of  the  company  of  his  wife,  to  whom  such  high  alti- 
tudes were  no  longer  possible.  He  turned  instead  to  a 
place  at  a  lower  elevation  in  the  Adirondack  Mountains, 
close  to  the  Canadian  border,  where  a  sanatorium  for 
consumptive  patients  had  recently  been  established  near 
the  shores  of  Saranac  lake. 

Thither  went  accordingly  Mrs.  Louis  Stevenson  and 
her  son,  and  there  they  succeeded  in  finding  a  house 
which  would  serve  as  winter-quarters  for  the  family. 
Stevenson  arrived  with  his  mother  on  October  ^rd, 
and  here  he  remained  until  the  middle  of  the  following 
April.  It  was  no  very  pleasant  spot,  at  all  events  in  the 
winter  months,  and  formed  a  curious  contrast  to  his 
experience  in  the  tropics.  The  climate  comprised  every 
variety  of  unpleasantness:  it  rained,  it  snowed,  it 
sleeted,  it  blew,  it  was  thick  fog;  it  froze  —  the  cold  was 
Arctic;  it  thawed  —  the  discomfort  was  worse;  and  it 

35 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

combined  these  different  phases  in  every  possible  way. 
Two  things  only  could  be  advanced  in  its  favour,  the 
first  and  vital  fact  that  Stevenson's  health  did  not  suffer, 
but  actually  improved;  and  secondly,  it  served  at  times 
to  remind  him  of  Scotland  —  a  Scotland  "  without  peat 
and  without  heather" — but  that  is  no  very  hard  task 
with  the  true  Scot,  as  may  be  seen  with  Stevenson  him- 
self in  the  Pacific. 

The  place  was  still  somewhat  undeveloped ;  the  rail- 
way was  opened  to  Saranac  itself  only  during  the  course 
of  the  winter.  It  was  nevertheless  so  far  accessible 
that  visitors  not  unfrequently  found  their  way  there  to 
make  Stevenson's  acquaintance,  and  occasionally  even 
stayed  a  few  days,  though  there  was  in  the  house  but 
one  spare  attic  of  limited  capacity.  In  Dr.  Trudeau,  the 
physician,  Stevenson  found  an  agreeable  companion, 
and  he  also  enjoyed  the  society  of  some  of  the  resident 
patients,  though  he  went  but  little  beyond  the  limits  of 
his  own  family.  They  occupied  a  house  belonging  to 
a  guide,  a  frame-house  of  the  usual  kind  with  a  veran- 
dah ;  here,  with  the  services  of  Valentine  and  a  cook, 
and  a  boy  to  chop  wood  and  draw  water,  they  made 
themselves  as  comfortable  as  possible  during  the  winter. 

The  younger  Mrs.  Stevenson  began  the  campaign  by 
a  hasty  visit  to  Canada  to  lay  in  a  supply  of  furs  for 
the  family,  and  her  foresight  was  well  rewarded.  In 
December  the  cold  began,  and  by  January  the  ther- 
mometer was  sometimes  nearly  30  degrees  below  zero. 
There  was  a  stove  in  each  chamber,  and  an  open  fire- 
place for  logs  in  the  central  living-room,  but  these  were 
of  little  avail.  "  Fires  do  not  radiate,"  wrote  Stevenson ; 
"you  burn  your  hands  all  the  time  on  what  seem  to  be 

36 


THE  UNITED  STATES- 1887-88 

cold  stones."  His  mother  gives  an  illustration:  "  Cold 
venison  was  crunching  with  ice  after  being  an  hour  in 
the  oven,  and  I  saw  a  large  lump  of  ice  still  unmelted 
in  a  pot  where  water  was  steaming  all  round  it" 

Stevenson  himself  stood  the  cold  better  than  any  of 
his  family,  and,  arrayed  in  a  buffalo  coat,  astrakhan  cap, 
and  Indian  boots,  used  to  go  out  daily.  He  would 
take  short  walks  on  a  hill  behind  the  house,  and  skated 
on  the  lake  when  the  ice  could  be  kept  clear.  But  both 
the  ladies  were  ordered  away  for  their  health  at  differ- 
ent times,  while  in  February  the  maid  was  laid  up  with 
a  severe  attack  of  influenza,  the  next  victim  being 
Stevenson  himself. 

In  the  meantime  he  had  not  been  idle.  By  December 
he  had  written  four  of  the  essays  for  the  magazine,  and 
was  already  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  Scotch  story. 

"I  was  walking  one  night  in  the  verandah  of  a  small 
house  in  which  I  lived,  outside  the  hamlet  of  Saranac. 
It  was  winter;  the  night  was  very  dark;  the  air  extraor- 
dinary clear  and  cold,  and  sweet  with  the  purity  of 
forests.  From  a  good  way  below,  the  river  was  to  be 
heard  contending  with  ice  and  boulders:  a  few  lights 
appeared,  scattered  unevenly  among  the  darkness,  but 
so  far  away  as  not  to  lessen  the  sense  of  isolation.  For 
the  making  of  a  story  here  were  fine  conditions.  I  was 
besides  moved  with  the  spirit  of  emulation,  for  I  had 
just  finished  my  third  or  fourth  perusal  of  The  Phantom 
Ship.  'Come,'  said  I  to  my  engine,  'let  us  make  a 
tale,  a  story  of  many  years  and  countries,  of  the  sea 
and  the  land,  savagery  and  civilisation;  a  story  that 
shall  have  the  same  large  features,  and  may  be  treated 
in  the  same  summary  elliptic  method  as  the  book  you 

37 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

have  been  reading  and  admiring.'  .  .  .  There  cropped 
up  in  my  memory  a  singular  case  of  a  buried  and  resus- 
citated fakir,  which  I  had  often  been  told  by  an  uncle  of 
mine,  then  lately  dead,  Inspector-General  John  Balfour. 
On  such  a  fine  frosty  night,  with  no  wind  and  the 
thermometer  below  zero,  the  brain  works  with  much 
vivacity;  and  the  next  moment  I  had  seen  the  circum- 
stance transplanted  from  India  and  the  tropics  to  the 
Adirondack  wilderness  and  the  stringent  cold  of  the 
Canadian  border.  .  .  .  If  the  idea  was  to  be  of  any  use 
at  all  for  me,  I  had  to  create  a  kind  of  evil  genius  to  his 
friends  and  family,  take  him  through  many  disappear- 
ances, and  make  this  final  restoration  from  the  pit  of 
death,  in  the  icy  American  wilderness,  the  last  and 
grimmest  of  the  series.  I  need  not  tell  my  brothers  of 
the  craft  that  I  was  now  in  the  most  interesting  moment 
of  an  author's  life ;  the  hours  that  followed  that  night 
upon  the  balcony,  and  the  following  nights  and  days, 
whether  walking  abroad  or  lying  wakeful  in  my  bed, 
were  hours  of  unadulterated  joy.  My  mother,  who  was 
then  living  with  me  alone,  perhaps  had  less  enjoyment; 
for,  in  the  absence  of  my  wife,  who  is  my  usual  helper 
in  these  times  of  parturition,  I  must  spur  her  up  at  all 
seasons  to  hear  me  relate  and  try  to  clarify  my  un- 
formed fancies. 

"And  while  I  was  groping  for  the  fable  and  the 
character  required,  behold  I  found  them  lying  ready  and 
nine  years  old  in  my  memory.  .  .  .  Here,  thinking  of 
quite  other  things,  I  had  stumbled  on  the  solution,  or 
perhaps  I  should  rather  say  (in  stagewright  phrase)  the 
Curtain  or  final  Tableau  of  a  story  conceived  long  before 
on  the  moors  between  Pitlochry  and  Strathairdle,  con- 

38 


THE  UNITED  STATES- 1887-88 

ceived  in  Highland  rain,  in  the  blend  of  the  smell  of 
heather  and  bog-plants,  and  with  a  mind  full  of  the 
Athole  correspondence  and  the  Memoirs  of  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Johnstone.  So  long  ago,  so  far  away  it  was, 
that  I  had  first  evoked  the  faces  and  the  mutual  tragic 
situation  of  the  men  of  Durrisdeer."  1 

The  accessibility  of  his  winter-quarters  had  its  advan- 
tages, but  was  not  without  its  dangers  for  Stevenson, 
now  that  publishers  recognised  him  as  a  writer  for 
whose  works  they  must  contend  in  advance.  "  Acute 
and  capable  as  he  was  when  confronted  with  any  piece 
of  business,  the  moment  it  was  done  he  dismissed  it 
from  his  mind,  and  allowed  its  details,  if  not  its  very 
existence,  to  fade  from  his  memory.  Having  promised 
Messrs.  Scribner  the  control  of  all  his  work  which  might 
appear  in  America,  he  shortly  afterwards,  in  sheer  for- 
getfulness,  sold  the  serial  rights  of  his  next  story  to  Mr. 
M'Clure.  Nobody  could  have  been  more  sincerely  or 
more  deeply  distressed  over  the  matter  than  Stevenson 
himself,  and,  fortunately  for  his  peace  of  mind,  nobody 
seems  ever  for  one  instant  to  have  thought  him  capable 
of  any  act  of  bad  faith.  But  it  must  have  been  as  much 
of  a  relief  to  every  one  concerned,  as  it  was  very  greatly 
to  his  own  advantage,  when  shortly  afterwards  he 
handed  over  the  disposal  of  his  writings  to  the  manage- 
ment of  his  old  and  trusted  friend,  Mr.  Charles  Baxter. 

At  Saranac  Mr.  Osbourne  wrote  entirely  on  his  own 
account  a  story  called  at  first  The  Finsbury  Tontine  and 
afterwards  The  Game  of  Bluff,  which,  after  the  lapse  of 
many  months  and  a  course  of  collaboration  with  his 
stepfather,  was  to  appear  as  The  Wrong  Box.  At  first 

1 "  Genesis  of  '  The  Master  of  Ballantrae,'  "Juvenilia,  p.  197. 
39 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

this  was  an  independent  book,  but  as  soon  as  the  idea 
of  collaboration  had  occurred  to  them,  several  projects 
were  speedily  set  on  foot,  since  the  joint  books  would 
have  this  advantage,  that,  Mr.  Osbourne  being  an 
American  citizen,  they  could  be  copyrighted  in  the 
United  States.  The  New  York  Ledger  is  a  paper  which 
had  long  a  reputation  for  sensational  stories  of  the  fine 
old  melodramatic  kind,  and  as  the  editor  was  willing  to 
give  Stevenson  a  commission,  it  seemed  to  him  highly 
entertaining  to  try  his  hand  at  this  style  of  narrative. 
A  plot  was  drawn  out,  and  then:  "Study  of  the  Ledger 
convinced  me  that  '  Fighting  the  Ring '  would  not  do. 
Accordingly,  at  about  nine  one  night  Lloyd  and  I  began, 
and  next  day  before  lunch  we  had  finished  the  design 
of  a  new  and  more  sensational  tale,  'The  Gaol  Bird.' 
T  is  the  correct  Ledger  subject  of  a  noble  criminal, 
who  returns  to  prove  his  innocence;  but  it  seems  pictu- 
resquely designed,  and  we  flatter  ourselves  that  the  rela- 
tions between  the  criminal  and  the  man  whom  he 
suspects  (Donald,  first  Baron  DrummondofDrummond 
and  Raracaroo,  late  Governor-General  of  India)  are 
essentially  original,  and  should  quite  blind  all  but  the 
most  experienced." 

Mr.  Osbourne  laboured  at  this  tale  by  himself  for  many 
a  long  day  in  vain ;  but  the  plot  was  hardly  sketched 
before  the  collaborators  were  again  deep  in  the  plan  of 
a  new  novel  dealing  with  the  Indian  Mutiny  —  "a  tragic 
romance  of  the  most  tragic  sort.  .  .  .  The  whole  last 
part  is  —  well,  the  difficulty  is  that,  short  of  resuscitat- 
ing Shakespeare,  I  don't  know  who  is  to  write  it." 

Of  their  methods  Mr.  Osbourne  writes:  "When  an 
idea  for  a  book  was  started,  we  used  to  talk  it  over 

40 


THE   UNITED   STATES— 1887-88 

together,  and  generally  carried  the  tale  on  from  one  in- 
vention to  another,  until,  in  accordance  with  Louis'  own 
practice,  we  had  drawn  out  a  complete  list  of  the  chap- 
ters. In  all  our  collaborations  I  always  wrote  the  first 
draft,  to  break  the  ground,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  me 
to  recall  how  pleased  Louis  was,  for  instance,  with  the 
first  three  chapters  of  The  Ebb  Tide.  As  a  rule,  he  was 
a  man  chary  of  praise,  but  he  fairly  overflowed  toward 
those  early  chapters,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  elation 
his  praise  gave  me.  The  draft  was  then  written  and 
rewritten  by  Louis  and  myself  in  turn,  and  was  worked 
over  and  over  again  by  each  of  us  as  often  as  was  ne- 
cessary. For  instance,  the  chapter  in  The  Wrecker  at 
Honolulu,  where  Dodd  goes  out  to  the  lighthouse,  must 
have  been  written  and  rewritten  eleven  times.  Natu- 
rally it  came  about  that  it  was  the  bad  chapters  that 
took  the  most  rewriting.  After  this,  how  could  any- 
body but  Louis  or  myself  pretend  to  know  which  of 
us  wrote  any  given  passage  ?  The  Paris  parts  of  The 
Wrecker  and  the  end  of  The  Ebb  Tide  (as  it  stands)  I 
never  even  touched.1  The  collaboration  was,  of  course, 
a  mistake  for  me,  nearly  as  much  as  for  him;  but  I 
don't  believe  Louis  ever  enjoyed  any  work  more.  He 
liked  the  comradeship  —  my  work  coming  in  just  as  his 
energy  flagged,  or  "vice  -versa;  and  he  liked  my  ap- 
plause when  he  —  as  he  always  did  —  pulled  us  mag- 
nificently out  of  sloughs.  In  a  way,  I  was  well  fitted 
to  help  him.  I  had  a  knack  for  dialogue  —  I  mean,  of 
the  note-taking  kind.  I  was  a  kodaker:  he  an  artist 
and  a  man  of  genius.  I  managed  the  petty  makeshifts 
and  inventions  which  were  constantly  necessary;  I 

1  Cf.  Letters,  ii.  357. 
4' 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

was  the  practical  man,  so  to  speak,  the  one  who  paced 
the  distances,  and  used  the  weights  and  measures; 
in  Tbe  Wrecker,  the  storm  was  mine;  so  were  the 
fight  and  the  murders  on  the  Currency  Lass;  the 
picnics  in  San  Francisco,  and  the  commercial  details  of 
Loudon's  partnership.  Nares  was  mine  and  Pinkerton 
to  a  great  degree,  and  Captain  Brown  was  mine  through- 
out. But  although  the  first  four  chapters  of  Tbe  Ebb 
Tide  remain,  save  for  the  text  of  Herrick's  letter  to  his 
sweetheart,  almost  as  I  first  wrote  them,  yet  Tbe 
Wrong  Box  was  more  mine  as  a  whole  than  either  of 
the  others.  It  was  written  and  then  rewritten  before 
there  was  any  thought  of  collaboration,  and  was  actually 
finished  and  ready  for  the  press.  There  was,  in  conse- 
quence, far  less  give  and  take  between  us  in  this  book 
than  in  the  others.  Louis  had  to  follow  the  text  very 
closely,  being  unable  to  break  away  without  jeopardis- 
ing the  succeeding  chapters.  He  breathed  into  it,  of 
course,  his  own  incomparable  power,  humour,  and 
vivacity,  and  forced  the  thing  to  live  as  it  had  never 
lived  before;  but,  even  in  his  transforming  hands,  it 
still  retains  (it  seems  to  me)  a  sense  of  failure;  and  this 
verdict  has  so  far  been  sustained  by  the  public's  reluc- 
tance to  buy  the  book.  Tbe  Wrecker,  on  the  other 
hand,  has  always  been  in  excellent  demand,  rivalling 
Kidnapped,  Tbe  Master  of  Ballantrae,  and  Catriona, 
and  still  continues  to  earn  ^£200  a  year  with  unvarying 
regularity." 

At  Saranac  Stevenson  carried  on  his  music  under  dis- 
advantages, and  his  chief  solace  lay  in  the  pleasures  of 
adaptation.  "All  my  spare  time,"  he  wrote,  "is  spent 
in  trying  to  set  words  to  music.  My  last  attempt  is  the 

42 


THE  UNITED  STATES— 1887-88 

divine  theme  of  Beethoven's  six  variations  faciles.  

will  know  it;  and  if  she  does  not  like  it  —  well,  she 
knows  nothing  of  music,  or  sorrow,  or  consolation,  or 
religion.  .  .  .  That  air  has  done  me  more  good  than  all 
the  churches  of  Christendom." 

Meanwhile,  as  an  interpreter,  he  fell  from  the  piano- 
forte to  the  more  portable  penny  whistle.  "  T  is  true 
my  whistle  explodes  with  sharp  noises,  and  has  to  be 
patched  with  court-plaster  like  a  broken  nose;  but  its 
notes  are  beginning  to  seem  pretty  sweet  to  the  player — 
The  Penny  Piper." 

But  already,  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains,  he  had 
been  laying  plans  of  travel,  which  were  to  lead  him  far 
and  wide  across  the  seas  and  to  end  in  a  continued 
exile  of  which  at  this  time  he  had  never  dreamed.  He 
had  always  nourished  a  passion  for  the  sea,  whether  in 
romance  or  in  real  life;  it  ran  in  his  blood,  and  came  to 
him  from  both  his  father  and  his  grandfather.1  As  a  boy, 
on  Saturday  afternoons,  he  would  make  a  party  to  go 
down  to  Leith  to  see  the  ships,  for  in  those  days,  as 
always,  he  loved  a  ship  "as  a  man  loves  Burgundy  or 
daybreak."  The  sea  was  to  him  the  redeeming  feature 
of  engineering,  and  a  year  or  two  after  he  had  given 
up  the  profession  he  wrote  with  eager  anticipation  of 
a  projected  trip  in  the  Pharos,  the  lighthouse  steamer. 
Then  for  ten  years  he  hardly  mentioned  the  sea  again, 
and  even  in  crossing  the  Atlantic  as  an  amateur  emi- 
grant, he  seems  to  have  taken  more  interest  in  his 
fellow-passengers  than  in  the  ocean.  But  his  feelings 
were  unchanged:  in  1883  his  idea  of  a  fortune  is  to  "end 

1  "  It  was  that  old  gentleman's  blood  that  brought  me  to  Samoa." 
— Letters,  ii.  258. 

43 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

with  horses  and  yachts  and  all  the  fun  of  the  fair  " ; 
and  in  some  verses  written  at  Hyeres,  contrasting  his 
wife's  aspirations  with  his  own,  he  declares  — 

"  She  vows  in  ardour  for  a  horse  to  trot, 
I  stake  my  votive  prayers  upon  a  yacht." 

We  have  seen  how  he  enjoyed  his  voyage  across  the 
Atlantic;  and  to  this  pleasure  he  was  perpetually  re- 
curring: "I  have  been  made  a  lot  of  here,  .  .  .  but  I 

could  give  it  all  up,  and  agree  that was  the  author  of 

my  works,  for  a  good  seventy-ton  schooner  and  the 
coins  to  keep  her  on.  And  to  think  there  are  parties 
with  yachts  who  would  make  the  exchange!  I  know 
a  little  about  fame  now;  it  is  no  good  compared  to  a 
yacht;  and  anyway  there  is  more  fame  in  a  yacht,  more 
genuine  fame."1  And  no  doubt  his  envy  had  been 
excited  at  Newport  by  hearing  of  Mr.  Osbourne's  expe- 
riences in  learning  to  sail  a  cat-boat.2 

It  was  therefore  no  unexpected  development,  no 
outbreak  of  any  new  taste,  when  it  became  a  favourite 
diversion  of  the  winter  nights  at  Saranac  to  plan  a 
yachting  cruise.  So  far  indeed  were  the  discussions 
carried,  that  the  place  for  the  piano  in  the  saloon  and 
the  number  and  disposition  of  the  small-arms  were 
already  definitely  settled.  At  first,  in  spite  of  the 
severity  of  the  climate  and  the  proverbial  roughness  of 
the  weather,  they  had  looked  chiefly  to  the  Atlantic 
seaboard,  but  in  the  end  of  March,  when  Mrs.  Stevenson 
left  Saranac  for  California  on  a  visit  to  her  people,  she 

1  Letters,  ii.  68. 

2  A  rather  broad  and  shallow  boat,  round-bottomed,  with  a  centre 
board,  and  a  single  mast  stepped  at  the  extreme  point  of  the  bow. 

44 


THE  UNITED  STATES— 1887-88 

was  instructed  to  report  if  she  could  find  any  craft  suit- 
able for  their  purpose  at  San  Francisco. 

At  last,  by  the  middle  of  April,  Stevenson  was  free  to 
return  to  the  "cities  if  he  chose.  He  made  a  heroic 
effort  to  deal  with  the  arrears  of  his  correspondence: 
"In  three  of  my  last  days  I  sent  away  upwards  of 
seventy  letters";  and  then  turning  his  steps  to  New 
York,  he  there  spent  about  a  fortnight.  The  time  to 
which  he  recurred  with  the  greatest  pleasure  was  an 
afternoon  he  spent  on  a  seat  in  Washington  Square 
enjoying  the  company  and  conversation  of  "Mark 
Twain."  But  of  the  city  he  soon  wearied;  in  the 
beginning  of  May  he  crossed  the  Hudson,  and  went  to 
an  hotel  near  the  mouth  of  the  Manasquan,  a  river  in 
New  Jersey,  where  with  his  mother  and  stepson  he 
spent  nearly  a  month.  The  place  had  been  recom- 
mended to  him  by  Mr.  Low,  who  was  able  to  spend 
some  time  there,  and  who  says:  "Though  it  was 
early  spring  and  the  weather  was  far  from  good,  Louis 
(pretending  that,  in  comparison  with  Scotland  at  least, 
it  was  fine  spring  weather)  was  unusually  well,  and  we 
had  many  a  pleasant  sail  on  the  river  and  some  rather 
long  walks.  Louis  was  much  interested  in  the  'cat- 
boat,'  and,  with  the  aid  of  various  works  on  sailing- 
vessels,  tried  to  master  the  art  of  sailing  it  with  some 
success. 

"  He  was  here  at  Manasquan  when  a  telegram  arrived 
from  his  wife,  who  had  been  in  San  Francisco  for  a  few 
weeks,  announcing  that  the  yacht  Casco  might  be  hired 
for  a  trip  among  the  islands  of  the  South  Seas.  I  was 
there  at  the  time,  and  Louis  made  that  decision  to  go 
which  exiled  him  from  his  dearest  friends  —  though  he 

45 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

little   suspected  at   the  time  —  while  the  messenger 
waited." 

The  decision  taken,  Stevenson  returned  to  New  York 
on  the  28th,  and  by  the  7th  of  June  he  had  reached 
California.  Who  that  has  read  his  description  of  cross- 
ing the  mountains  on  his  first  journey  to  the  West  but 
remembers  the  phrase — "It  was  like  meeting  one's 
wife!"  ?  And  this  time  his  wife  herself  was  at  Sacra- 
mento to  meet  him. 

It  was  a  busy  time.  The  Casco  was  the  first  ques- 
tipn — a  topsail  schooner,  ninety-five  feet  in  length,  of 
seventy  tons  burden,  built  for  racing  in  Californian  wa- 
ters, though  she  had  once  been  taken  as  far  as  Tahiti'  She 
had  most  graceful  lines,  and  with  her  lofty  masts, 
white  sails  and  decks,  and  glittering  brasswork,  was  a 
lovely  craft  to  the  eye,  as  she  sat  like  a  bird  upon  the 
water.  Her  saloon  was  fitted  most  luxuriously  with 
silk  and  velvet  of  gaudy  colours,  for  no  money  had 
been  spared  in  her  construction;  nevertheless  her  cock- 
pit was  none  too  safe,  her  one  pump  was  inadequate  in 
size  and  almost  worthless ;  the  sail-plan  forward  was 
meant  for  racing  and  not  for  cruising,  and  even  if  the 
masts  were  still  in  good  condition,  they  were  quite  un- 
fitted for  hurricane  weather. 

Nevertheless  the  vessel  was  chartered  and  all  prep- 
arations were  put  in  hand.  The  owner,  Dr.  Merritt, 
an  eccentric  Californian  millionaire,  was  at  first  most 
backward  about  the.  whole  affair,  and,  without  having 
seen  him,  displayed  the  greatest  distrust  of  Stevenson. 
The  latter  was  very  unwell,  and  getting  rapidly  worse, 
for  San  Francisco  disagreed  with  him.  Matters  hung 
fire,  but  at  last  his  wife  discovered  that  Dr.  Merritt 

46 


THE  UNITED  STATES  — 1887-88 

wanted  to  meet  him.  An  interview  took  place  and  all 
difficulties  vanished.  "I  '11  go  ahead  now  with  the 
yacht,"  said  the  doctor:  "I  'd  read  things  in  the 
papers  about  Stevenson,  and  thought  he  was  a  kind  of 
crank;  but  he  's  a  plain,  sensible  man  that  knows  what 
he  's  talking  about  just  as  well  as  I  do." 

If  any  fears  had  existed  in  his  mind  about  the  solvency 
of  his  lessee  they  were  unfounded.  Under  the  terms 
of  his  father's  marriage  settlement  Stevenson  had  six 
months  before  received  a  sum  of  .£3000,  and  it  was  in 
the  first  instance  upon  the  strength  of  this  that  he 
planned  the  voyage.  As  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Baxter,  "If 
this  business  fails  to  set  me  up,  well,  ^2000  is  gone, 
and  I  know  I  can't  get  better."  On  the  other  hand,  if  it 
restored  his  health,  he  had  received  a  most  liberal  offer 
from  Messrs.  M'Clure  for  a  series  of  letters  describing 
his  experiences  in  the  Pacific. 

Along  with  the  yacht,  at  the  owner's  request,  they 
gladly  engaged  his  skipper,  Captain  Otis,  who  knew 
the  Casco  well,  and  the  cook,  a  Chinaman,  who  passed 
himself  off  as  a  Japanese.  The  former  choice  they  had 
no  reason  to  regret,  for  the  captain  showed  himself  a 
bold  and  skilful  seaman,  who,  beginning  the  voyage 
with  a  supreme  contempt  for  his  new  employers,  ended 
it  as  an  intimate  and  valued  friend,  whose  portrait  for 
the  rest  may  be  found  in  the  pages  of  The  Wrecker.  A 
crew  of  four  deck-hands,  "three  Swedes  and  the 
inevitable  Finn,"  was  engaged  by  the  captain,  and 
four  "sea-lawyers"  they  proved  to  be;  a  reporter, 
trying  to  ship  himself  as  a  hand,  was  ejected,  and  a 
passage  was  with  great  difficulty  refused  to  a  Seventh- 
Day  Adventist,  who  afterwards  with  a  crew  of  his 

47 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

fellow-believers  travelled  over  the  whole  of  the  South 
Seas. 

The  destination  of  the  Casco  was  next  to  be  settled. 
Stevenson  himself  was  anxious  to  begin  with  a  long 
voyage,  "counting,"  says  his  wife,  "on  the  warm  sea 
air  as  the  strongest  factor  in  his  cure,  if  cure  it  was  to  be. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  to  be  death,  he  wished  it 
to  be  so- far  away  from  land  that  burial  at  sea  should  be 
certain.  With  this  in  view,  the  Galapagos  and  Mar- 
quesas were  at  the  right  distance.  If  he  arrived  alive  at 
either  of  these  places,  then  he  must  have  recovered  a 
certain  amount  of  health,  and  would  be  able  to  go  fur- 
ther to  any  place  he  chose.  It  turned  out  that  he  really 
knew  a  great  deal  about  the  islands.  Before  we  started, 
he  told  me  a  lot  about  them  all,  their  appearance,  the 
names  of  places,  habits  of  the  natives,  and  other  details. 
On  visiting  them  I  got  no  further  general  knowledge 
than  Louis  had  already  given  me.  He  now  preferred 
the  Galapagos,  but  when  he  told  me  that  we  must  pass 
through  a  belt  of  calms  where  we  might  knock  about 
in  the  heat  of  the  tropics  for  weeks,  perhaps  for  months, 
before  we  could  make  land,  and  that  the  islands  were 
barren  of  vegetation,  I  insisted  on  the  Marquesas.  So 
to  the  Marquesas  we  went." 

In  the  meantime  they  were  living  at  the  Occidental 
Hotel  in  San  Francisco.  Virgil  Williams  was  now  dead, 
but  Mrs.  Williams  was  indefatigable  in  their  service, 
and  other  friends  gathered  round  them,  among  whom 
Stevenson  was  especially  drawn  to  Dr.  George  Chis- 
more,  alike  for  his  Scotch  blood,  his  love  of  literature, 
and  the  force  and  tenderness  of  his  character.  But  as 
he  himself  had  known  trouble  in  this  city,  here  least  of 

48 


THE  UNITED  STATES— 1887-88 

all  was  he  likely  to  disregard  the  misfortunes  of  others. 
An  Australian  journalist  seven  years  afterwards  wrote 
to  the  Times : — 

"Some  years  ago  I  lay  ill  in  San  Francisco,  an  obscure 
journalist,  quite  friendless.  Stevenson,  who  knew  me 
slightly,  came  to  my  bedside  and  said, '  I  suppose  you  are 
like  all  of  us,  you  don't  keep  your  money.  Now,  if  a  little 
loan,  as  between  one  man  of  letters  and  another — eh  ?' 

"  This  to  a  lad  writing  rubbish  for  a  vulgar  sheet  in 
California." 

At  last,  on  June  26th,  the  party  took  up  their  quarters 
on  the  Casco,  and  at  the  dawn  of  the  28th  she  was 
towed  outside  the  Golden  Gate,  and  headed  for  the 
south  across  the  long  swell  of  the  Pacific. 

So  with  his  household  he  sailed  away  beyond  the 
sunset,  and  America,  like  Europe,  was  to  see  him  no 
more. 


49 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SOUTH  SEA  CRUISES  —  THE  EASTERN  PACIFIC, 
JUNE,   1888— JUKE,  1889 

"This  donate;  these  voyagings;  these  landfalls  at  dawn;  new 
islands  peeking  from  the  morning  bank;  new  forested  harbours;  new 
passing  alarms  of  squaBs  and  surf ;  new  interests  of  gentle  natives  — 
the  whole  tale  of  my  Be  is  better  to  me  than  any  poem." 

Lftttrs,n.  1 60. 

FOR  nearly  three  years  to  come  Stevenson  wandered 
up  and  down  the  face  of  the  Pacific,  spending  most  of 
his  time  in  the  Hawaiian  Islands  and  the  Gilberts,  in 
Tahiti,  and  in  Samoa,  his  future  home;  during  this 
period  he  visited,  however  cursorily,  almost  every  group 
of  importance  in  the  Eastern  and  Central  Pacific. 

The  delight  these  experiences  kindled  for  him  can 
never  be  expressed,  since,  apart  from  one  or  two  phrases 
in  his  letters,  he  has  failed  to  convey  any  image  of  it 
himself.  It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  nobody  else 
in  the  world  would  have  derived  such  keen  or  such 
varied  enjoyment  from  cruising  through  these  islands,  so 
wild,  so  beautiful  —  among  their  inhabitants  so  attrac- 
tive, so  remote  from  experience  —  in  these  waters,  so 
fascinating  and  so  dangerous.  The  very  romance  that 
hangs  about  the  South  Seas  is  fatal  to  any  attempt  to 
sustain,  among  the  mazes  of  detail  and  necessary  ex- 
planation, the  charm  suggested  by  their  name.  Ste- 
venson himself  set  out  to  write  an  account  of  his 
wanderings  and  adventures  among  the  islands  it  had 

50 


SOUTH  SEA  CRUISES  -1888-89 

for  years  been  the  dream  of  his  life  to  see,  but  as  soon 
as  he  essayed  the  task,  he  was  overwhelmed  with  a 
mass  of  legend  and  history  and  anthropology.  It  is 
hard  for  people  at  their  own  firesides  to  realise  the  dif- 
ferences between  the  islands  visited  in  one  cruise  in  the 
same  ocean.  Perhaps  some  vague  and  general  concep- 
tion of  the  diversity  of  Stevenson's  experiences  might 
be  formed  by  imagining  a  rapid  visit  to  the  islands  of 
Sardinia,  Sicily,  Majorca,  and  Tenerife,  a  fresh  depar- 
ture for  Jersey  and  the  lies  d'Or,  ending  with  a  passing 
glimpse  at  the  West  Indies. 

The  point  now  to  be  considered  is  not,  however,  the 
customs  and  character  of  the  natives  whom  Stevenson 
encountered,  but  rather  how  he  was  affected  and  in- 
fluenced by  what  he  saw,  the  characteristics  which  were 
called  out  in  him  during  the  course  of  his  travel,  and  the 
impressions  which  he  himself  produced.  His  chapters 
In  the  South  Seas  have  now  been  collected  and  pub- 
lished, and  from  them  I  shall  only  quote  one  or  two  of 
the  most  striking  passages,  relying  rather  on  his  origi- 
nal rough  journal  at  the  time,  which  naturally  strikes  a 
more  personal  note  and  deals  to  a  greater  extent  with 
his  individual  experience. 

The  first  point,  as  we  have  seen,  was  the  Marquesas, 
a  group  of  high l  islands  of  extreme  beauty,  occupied 
by  the  French  and  but  seldom  visited  by  travellers, 

1  Islands  in  the  Pacific  are  usually  divided  into  "  high  "  and  "  low  "; 
the  former  being,  generally  speaking,  islands  of  volcanic  origin,  often 
rising  several  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  densely  wooded  and  beau- 
tiful in  the  extreme.  These  frequently  have  a  barrier  reef  of  coral, 
protecting  what  would  otherwise  be  an  ironbound  coast,  but  their 
main  structure  is  igneous  rock.  "Low"  islands  are  atolls  or  mere 

5« 


LIFE   OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

remote  from  any  other  group  and  out  of  the  track  of 
ships  and  steamers.  For  these  the  Casco  now  steered 
a  course  of  three  thousand  miles  across  the  open  sea. 
Fortunately  the  main  object  of  the  cruise  seemed  likely 
to  be  gained  without  delay;  the  warmer  climate  and 
the  sea  air  suited  Stevenson  at  once,  and  he  grew 
stronger  day  by  day.  The  voyage  was  pleasant  but 
without  event  other  than  the  passing  squalls,  and  is  thus 
recorded  in  his  diary :  — 

"Since  on  the  fifth  day  we  were  left  ignominiously 
behind  by  a  full-rigged  English  ship,  our  quondam 
comrade,  bound  round  the  Horn,  we  have  not  spied  a 
sail,  nor  a  land  bird,  nor  a  shred  of  seaweed.  In  im- 
pudent isolation,  the  toy-schooner  has  ploughed  her 
path  of  snow  across  the  empty  deep,  far  from  all  track 
of  commerce,  far  from  any  hand  of  help :  now  to  the 
sound  of  slatting  sails  and  stamping  sheet-blocks,  stag- 
gering in  the  turmoil  of  that  business  falsely  called  a 
calm,  now,  in  the  assault  of  squalls,  burying  her  lee- 
rail  in  the  sea.  To  the  limit  of  the  north-east  trades  we 
carried  some  attendant  pilot  birds,  silent,  brown-suited, 
quakerish  fellows,  infinitely  graceful  on  the  wing; 
dropping  at  times  in  comfortable  sheltered  hollows  of 
the  swell;  running  awhile  in  the  snowy  footmarks  on 
the  water  before  they  rise  again  in  flight.  Scarce  had 
these  dropped  us,  ere  the  Boatswains  took  their  place, 
birds  of  an  ungainly  shape,  but  beautiful  against  the 
heavens  in  their  white  plumage.  Late  upon  a  starry 

banks  built  by  the  coral  insect,  never  more  than  twenty  feet  above 
water,  and  owing  any  beauty  they  possess  to  the  sea,  the  sun,  and  the 
palm-tree.  The  Marquesas,  Tahiti,  Samoa,  and  the  Hawaiian  group 
are  high  islands;  the  Paumotus,  the  Gilberts,  and  the  Marshalls  are  low. 

52 


SOUTH  SEA   CRUISES- 1 888-89 

night,  as  they  fly  invisible  overhead,  the  strange  voices 
of  these  co-voyagers  fall  about  us  strangely.  Flying- 
fish,  a  skimming  silver  rain  on  the  blue  sea;  a  turtle 
fast  asleep  in  the  early  morning  sunshine;  the  Southern 
Cross  hung  thwart  in  the  fore-rigging  like  the  frame  of 
a  wrecked  kite — the  pole  star  and  the  familiar  Plough 
dropping  ever  lower  in  the  wake:  these  build  up  thus 
far  the  history  of  our  voyage.  It  is  singular  to  come  so 
far  and  to  see  so  infinitely  little." 

"July  igtb.— The  morning  was  hot,  the  wind  steady, 
the  sky  filled  with  such  clouds  as,  on  a  pleasant  Eng- 
lish day,  might  promise  a  cool  rain.  One  of  these  had 
been  visible  for  some  time,  a  continental  isle  of  sun  and 
shadow,  moving  innocuously  on  the  skyline  far  to 
windward;  when  upon  a  sudden  this  harmless-looking 
monster,  seeming  to  smell  a  quarry,  paused,  hung 
awhile  as  if  in  stays,  and  breaking  off  five  points,1  fell 
like  an  armed  man  upon  the  Casco.  Next  moment,  the 
inhabitants  of  the  cabin  were  piled  one  upon  another, 
the  sea  was  pouring  into  the  cockpit  and  spouting  in 
fountains  through  forgotten  deadlights,  and  the  steers- 
man stood  spinning  the  wheel  for  his  life  in  a  halo  of 
tropical  rain. 

"  I  chronicle  this  squall,  first,  for  the  singularity  and 

apparent  malignancy  of  its  behaviour,  as  though  it  had 

been  sent  express  to  cruise  after  the  Casco;  and,  second, 

because  of  the  nonsense  people  write  upon  the  climate 

of  these  seas.     Every  day  for  a  week  or  so,  in  defiance 

of  authorities,  we  have  had  from  three  to  four  squalls; 

and  as  for  this  last,  no  one  who  saw  it  desires  to  see  a 

worse.     Sailing  a  ship,  even  in  these  so-called  fine- 

1  I.e.  of  the  points  of  the  compass,  sixty-four  in  number. 

53 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

weather  latitudes,  may  be  compared  to  walking  the 
tight-rope;  so  constant  is  the  care  required.  On  our 
heavenly  nights,  when  we  sit  late  on  deck,  the  trade- 
wind  still  chariots  overhead  an  endless  company  of 
attenuated  clouds.  These  shine  in  the  moonlight  faintly 
bright,  affect  strange  and  semi-human  forms  like  the 
more  battered  of  the  antique  statues,  blot  out  the 
smaller  stars,  and  are  themselves  pierced  by  the  radiance 
of  the  greater.  '  Is  there  any  wind  in  them  ? '  so  goes 
the  regular  sea  question.  A  capful  at  least,  and  even 
in  the  least  substantial;  but  for  the  most  part  in  these 
latitudes  they  fly  far  above  man's  concerns,  perhaps  out 
of  all  reach,  so  that  not  even  the  lowest  fringe  of  wind 
shall  breathe  upon  the  mainmasthead." 

After  two-and-twenty  days  at  sea  they  made  their 
landfall.  "  The  first  experience  can  never  be  repeated. 
The  first  love,  the  first  sunrise,  the  first  South  Sea 
island,  are  memories  apart  and  touched  a  virginity  of 
sense.  On  the  28th  of  July,  1888,  the  moon  was  an  hour 
down  by  four  in  the  morning,  .  .  .  and  it  was  half- 
past  five  before  we  could  distinguish  our  expected 
islands  from  the  clouds  on  the  horizon.  The  interval 
was  passed  on  deck  in  the  silence  of  expectation,  the 
customary  thrill  of  landfall  heightened  by  the  strange- 
ness of  the  shores  that  we  were  then  approaching. 
Slowly  they  took  shape  in  the  attenuating  darkness. 
Uahuna,  piling  up  to  a  truncated  summit,  appeared  the 
first  upon  the  starboard  bow;  almost  abeam  arose  our 
destination,  Nukahiva,  whelmed  in  cloud ;  and  betwixt, 
and  to  the  southward,  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  displayed 
the  needles  of  Uapu.  These  pricked  about  the  line  of 
the  horizon,  like  the  pinnacles  of  some  ornate  and  mon- 

54 


SOUTH  SEA   CRUISES- 1 888-89 

strous  church;  they  stood  there,  in  the  sparkling  bright- 
ness of  the  morning,  the  fit  signboard  of  a  world  of 
wonders.  .  .  .  The  land  heaved  up  in  peaks  and  rising 
vales;  it  fell  in  cliffs  and  buttresses;  its  colour  ran 
through  fifty  modulations  in  a  scale  of  pearl  and  rose 
and  olive;  and  it  was  crowned  above  by  opalescent 
clouds.  The  suffusion  of  vague  hues  deceived  the  eye; 
the  shadows  of  clouds  were  confounded  with  the  artic- 
ulations of  the  mountain;  and  the  isle  and  its  unsub- 
stantial canopy  rose  and  shimmered  before  us  like  a 
single  mass.  There  was  no  beacon,  no  smoke  of  towns 
to  be  expected,  no  plying  pilot.  .  .  . 

"We  bore  away  along  the  shore.  On  our  port- 
beam  we  might  hear  the  explosions  of  the  surf;  a  few 
birds  flew  fishing  under  the  prow;  there  was  no  other 
sound  or  mark  of  life,  whether  of  man  or  beast,  in  all 
that  quarter  of  the  island.  Winged  by  her  own  impetus 
and  the  dying  breeze,  the  Casco  skimmed  under  cliffs, 
opened  out  a  cove,  showed  us  a  beach  and  some  green 
trees,  and  flitted  by  again,  bowing  to  the  swell.  .  .  . 
Again  the  cliff  yawned,  but  now  with  a  deeper  entry; 
and  the  Casco,  hauling  her  wind,  began  to  slide  into  the 
bay  of  Anaho.  Rude  and  bare  hills  embraced  the  inlet 
upon  either  hand ;  it  was  enclosed  to  the  landward  by 
a  bulk  of  shattered  mountains.  In  every  crevice  of  that 
barrier  the  forest  harboured,  roosting  and  nesting  there 
like  birds  about  a  ruin;  and  far  above,  it  greened  and 
roughened  the  razor  edges  of  the  summit. 

"Under  the  eastern  shore,  our  schooner,  now  bereft 
of  any  breeze,  continued  to  creep  in ;  the  smart  crea- 
ture, when  once  under  way,  appearing  motive  in  her- 
self. From  close  aboard  arose  the  bleating  of  young 

55 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

lambs;  a  bird  sang  in  the  hillside;  the  scent  of  the  land 
and  of  a  hundred  fruits  or  flowers  flowed  forth  to  meet 
us;  and,  presently,  a  house  or  two  appeared.  .  .  . 
The  mark  of  anchorage  was  a  blow-hole  in  the  rocks, 
near  the  south-easterly  corner  of  the  bay.  Punctually 
to  our  use,  the  blow-hole  spouted;  the  schooner  turned 
upon  her  heel;  the  anchor  plunged.  It  was  a  small 
sound,  a  great  event;  my  soul  went  down  with  these 
moorings  whence  no  windlass  may  extract  nor  any 
diver  fish  it  up ;  and  I,  and  some  part  of  my  ship's  com- 
pany, were  from  that  hour  the  bond-slaves  of  the  isles 
of  Vivien."1 

This  was  Nukahiva,  the  island  of  Herman  Melville's 
Typee,  and  here  for  three  weeks  they  lay  in  Anaho  Bay, 
where  there  lived  only  natives  and  one  white  trader. 
They  then  sailed  round  to  the  south  coast  of  the  same 
island,  to  Taiohae,  the  port  of  entry  and  the  capital  of 
the  group. 

The  two  special  features  of  the  Marquesas  which 
differentiate  them  from  the  other  islands  which  Steven- 
son saw  are,  first,  that  the  natives  were  till  very  recently 
the  most  inveterate  cannibals  of  Polynesia,  and  second, 
that  their  population  was  melting  away  like  snow  off  a 
dyke,  so  that  extinction  seemed  imminent  within  the 
next  few  years. 

Into  the  details  of  his  visit  I  have  no  intention  of 
going  —  partly  they  may  be  read  in  his  own  volume  In 
the  South  Seas  —  but  I  would  draw  attention  to  Steven- 
son's attitude  toward  the  native  races,  for  though  I 
shall  have  occasion  to  return  to  it  again  in  Samoa,  there 
was  but  little  growth  or  development  of  his  essential 

In  the  South  Seas,  pp.  2-6. 
56 


SOUTH   SEA   CRUISES- 1888-89 

feelings  or  principles  in  dealing  with  them.  Intelligent 
sympathy  was  the  keynote,  and  the  same  kindliness  to 
them  as  to  all  men.  He  never  idealised  them,  and  his 
view  was  but  rarely  affected  by  sentiment.  His  sense 
of  history,  combined  with  his  power  of  seeing  things  in 
a  new  light  and  the  refusal  to  accept  commonplaces 
without  examination,  here  stood  him  in  good  stead. 

Five  years  before,  in  the  Riviera,  he  had  written : l 
"There  is  no  form  of  conceit  more  common  or  more 
silly  than  to  look  down  on  barbarous  codes  of  morals. 
Barbarous  virtues,  the  chivalrous  point  of  honour,  the 
fidelity  of  the  wild  Highlander  or  the  two-sworded 
Japanese,  are  of  a  generous  example.  We  may  question 
the  utility  of  what  is  done;  the  whole-hearted  sincerity 
of  the  actors  shuts  our  mouth.  Nor  can  that  idea  be 
merely  dishonourable  for  which  men  relinquish  the 
comforts  and  consideration  of  society,  the  love  of  wife 
and  child  and  parent,  the  light  of  the  sun,  and  the  pro- 
tection of  the  laws.  The  seductions  of  life  are  strong 
in  every  age  and  station ;  we  make  idols  of  our  affec- 
tions, idols  of  our  customary  virtues;  we  are  content  to 
avoid  the  inconvenient  wrong  and  to  forego  the  incon- 
venient right  with  almost  equal  self-approval,  until  at 
last  we  make  a  home  for  our  conscience  among  the 
negative  virtues  and  the  cowardly  vices." 

This  was  of  the  Japanese  in  their  recent  feudal  period : 
here  is  one  of  his  earliest  notes  in  the  Marquesas,  after 
meeting  the  natives  face  to  face :  — 

' '  August  jrd.  —  Tropical  Night  Thoughts.  I  awoke 
this  morning  about  three;  the  night  was  heavenly  in 

1  Magazine  of  Art,  November,  1883,  apropos  of  the  story  of  the 
"  Forty-seven  Ronins." 

57 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

scent  and  temperature;  the  long  swell  brimmed  into 
the  bay  and  seemed  to  fill  it  full  and  then  subside; 
silently,  gently,  and  deeply  the  Casco  rolled;  only  at 
times  a  block  piped  like  a  bird.  I  sat  and  looked  sea- 
ward toward  the  mouth  of  the  bay  at  the  headlands  and 
the  stars ;  at  the  constellation  of  diamonds,  each  infi- 
nitesimally  small,  each  individual  and  of  equal  lustre,  and 
all  shining  together  in  heaven  like  some  old-fashioned 
clasp;  at  the  planet  with  the  visible  moon,  as  though  he 
were  beginning  to  re-people  heaven  by  the  process  of 
gemination;  at  many  other  lone  lamps  and  marshalled 
clusters.  And  upon  a  sudden  it  ran  into  my  mind,  even 
with  shame,  that  these  were  lovelier  than  our  nights  in 
the  north,  the  planets  softer  and  brighter,  and  the  con- 
stellations more  handsomely  arranged.  I  felt  shame,  I 
say,  as  at  an  ultimate  infidelity :  that  I  should  desert  the 
stars  that  shone  upon  my  father;  and  turning  to  the 
shore-side,  where  there  were  some  high  squalls  over- 
head, and  the  mountains  loomed  up  black,  I  could  have 
fancied  I  had  slipped  ten  thousand  miles  away  and  was 
anchored  in  a  Highland  loch ;  that  when  day  came  and 
made  clear  the  superimpending  slopes,  it  would  show 
pine  and  the  red  heather  and  the  green  fern,  and  roofs 
of  turf  sending  up  the  smoke  of  peats,  and  the  alien 
speech  that  should  next  greet  my  ears  should  be  Gaelic, 
not  Kanaka.1 

"  The  singular  narrowness  of  this  world's  range,  and, 
above  all,  the  paucity  of  human  combinations,  are  forced 
alike  upon  the  reader  and  the  traveller.  The  one  rang- 

1  Kanaka,  the  Hawaiian  word  for  a  man,  is  used  by  white  men 
throughout  the  Pacific  as  equivalent  to  "native,"  "  Polynesian."  In 
Australia  and  Fiji  it  generally  means  Melanesian  —  black  boy. 

58 


SOUTH  SEA  CRUISES -i 888- 89 

ing  through  books,  the  other  over  peopled  space, 
comes  with  astonishment  on  the  same  scenery,  the  same 
merry  stories,  the  same  fashion,  the  same  stage  of  social 
evolution.  Under  cover  of  darkness  here  might  be  a 
Hebridean  harbour;  and  if  I  am  to  call  these  men  sav- 
ages (which  no  bribe  would  induce  me  to  do),  what 
name  should  I  find  for  Hebridean  man  ?  The  Highlands 
and  Islands  somewhat  more  than  a  century  back  were 
in  much  the  same  convulsive  and  transitionary  state 
as  the  Marquesas  to-day.  In  the  one,  the  cherished 
habit  of  tattooing;  in  the  other,  a  cherished  costume, 
proscribed;  in  both,  the  men  disarmed,  the  chiefs  dis- 
honoured, new  fashions  introduced,  and  chiefly  that 
new  pernicious  fashion  of  regarding  money  as  the  be-all 
and  end-all  of  existence;  the  commercial  age,  in  each 
case,  succeeding  at  a  bound  to  the  age  militant:  war, 
with  its  truces  and  its  courtesies,  succeeded  by  peace, 
with  its  meanness  and  its  unending  effort:  the  means 
of  life  no  longer  wrested  with  a  bare  face  from  heredi- 
tary enemies,  but  ground  or  cheated  out  of  next-door 
neighbours  and  old  family  friends ;  in  each  case,  a  man's 
luxury  cut  off,  beef  driven  under  cover  of  night  from 
lowland  pastures  denied  to  the  meat-loving  Highlander, 
long-pig  pirated  from  the  next  village  to  the  man-eating 
Kanaka." 

And  here  is  the  practical  outcome  of  his  experience 
as  a  traveller,  written  in  1890,  a  passage  specially  se- 
lected for  praise  by  so  able  and  original  an  investigator 
as  Mary  Kingsley : — 

"When  I  desired  any  detail  of  savage  custom,  or  of 
superstitious  belief,  I  cast  back  in  the  story  of  my 
fathers,  and  fished  for  what  I  wanted  with  some  trait 

59 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

of  equal  barbarism:  Michael  Scott,  Lord  Derwent- 
water's  head,  the  second-sight,  the  Water  Kelpie, — 
each  of  these  I  have  found  to  be  a  killing  bait;  the  black 
bull's  head  of  Stirling  procured  me  the  legend  of  Rahero ; 
and  what  I  knew  of  the  Cluny  Macphersons,  or  the 
Appin  Stewarts,  enabled  me  to  learn,  and  helped  me  to 
understand,  about  the  Tevas  of  Tahiti.  The  native  was 
no  longer  ashamed,  his  sense  of  kinship  grew  warmer, 
and  his  lips  were  opened.  It  is  this  sense  of  kinship 
that  the  traveller  must  rouse  and  share;  or  he  had  better 
content  himself  with  travels  from  the  blue  bed  to  the 
brown."  l 

It  is  interesting  to  compare  his  portrait  of  Vaekehu, 
the  refined  and  aged  queen  of  the  Marquesas  spending 
a  devout  old  age  after  a  stormy  youth  of  cannibalism, 
with  the  similar  picture  in  the  Manage  de  Loti. 2 

"  Her  house  is  on  the  European  plan:  a  table  in  the 
midst  of  the  chief  room;  photographs  and  religious 
pictures  on  the  wall.  It  commands  to  either  hand  a 
charming  vista:  through  the  iront  door,  a  peep  of  green 
lawn,  scurrying  pigs,  the  pendent  fans  of  the  coco- 
palm,  and  the  splendour  of  the  bursting  surf;  through 
the  back,  mounting  forest  glades  and  coronals  of  preci- 
pice. Here,  in  the  strong  through-draught,  her  Majesty 
received  us  in  a  simple  gown  of  print,  and  with  no 
mark  of  royalty  but  the  exquisite  finish  of  her  tattooed 
mittens,  the  elaboration  of  her  manners,  and  the  gentle 
falsetto  in  which  all  the  highly  refined  among  Mar- 
quesan  ladies  (and  Vaekehu  above  all  others)  delight  to 

1  In  the  South  Seas,  p.  14. 

2  Lf   Mariage  de  Loti,    49th   edition,   p.    101.     Paris,  Calmann- 
Levy,  1893. 

60 


SOUTH   SEA  CRUISES -i 888-89 

sing  their  language.  .  .  .  Vaekehu  is  very  deaf;  merci 
is  her  only  word  of  French ;  and  I  do  not  know  that  she 
seemed  clever.  An  exquisite,  kind  refinement,  with  a 
shade  of  quietism,  gathered  perhaps  from  the  nuns, 
was  what  chiefly  struck  us.  ...  She  came  with 
Stanilao  (her  son)  and  his  little  girl  to  dine  on  board  the 
Casco.  She  had  dressed  for  the  occasion :  wore  white, 
which  very  well  became  her  strong  brown  face;  and 
sat  among  us,  eating  or  smoking  her  cigarette,  quite  cut 
off  from  all  society,  or  only  now  and  then  included 
through  the  intermediary  of  her  son.  It  was  a  position 
that  might  have  been  ridiculous,  and  she  made  it  orna- 
mental; making  believe  to  hear  and  to  be  entertained; 
her  face,  whenever  she  met  our  eyes,  lighted  with  the 
smile  of  good  society;  her  contributions  to  the  talk, 
when  she  made  any,  and  that  was  seldom,  always 
complimentary  and  pleasing.  No  attention  was  paid 
to  the  child,  for  instance,  but  what  she  remarked  and 
thanked  us  for.  Her  parting  with  each  when  she  came 
to  leave  was  gracious  and  pretty,  as  had  been  every 
step  of  her  behaviour.  When  Mrs.  Stevenson  held  out 
her  hand  to  say  good-bye,  Vaekehu  took  it,  held  it, 
and  a  moment  smiled  upon  her;  dropped  it,  and  then, 
as  upon  a  kindly  afterthought,  and  with  a  sort  of 
warmth  of  condescension,  held  out  both  hands  and 
kissed  my  wife  upon  both  cheeks.  Given  the  same 
relation  of  years  and  rank,  the  thing  would  have  been 
so  done  upon  the  boards  of  the  Com6die  Francaise; 
just  so  might  Madame  Brohan  have  warmed  and  con- 
descended to  Madame  Broisat  in  the  Marquis  de  Villc- 
mer.  It  was  my  part  to  accompany  our  guests  ashore: 
when  I  kissed  the  little  girl  good-bye  at  the  pier-steps, 

61 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Vaekehu  gave  a  cry  of  gratification,  reached  down  her 
hand  into  the  boat,  took  mine,  and  pressed  it  with  that 
flattering  softness  which  seems  the  coquetry  of  the  old 
lady  in  every  quarter  of  the  earth.  The  next  moment 
she  had  taken  Stanilao's  arm,  and  they  moved  off  along 
the  pier  in  the  moonlight,  leaving  me  bewildered. 
This  was  a  queen  of  cannibals;  she  was  tattooed  from 
hand  to  foot,  and  perhaps  the  greatest  masterpiece  of 
that  art  now  extant,  so  that  a  while  ago,  before  she 
was  grown  prim,  her  leg  was  one  of  the  sights  of 
Taiohae ;  she  had  been  passed  from  chief  to  chief;  she 
had  been  fought  for  and  taken  in  war;  perhaps,  being 
so  great  a  lady,  she  had  sat  on  the  high  place,  and 
throned  it  there,  alone  of  her  sex,  while  the  drums 
were  going  twenty  strong  and  the  priests  carried  up  the 
blood-stained  baskets  of  long-pig.  And  now  behold 
her,  out  of  that  past  of  violence  and  sickening  feasts, 
step  forth  in  her  age,  a  quiet,  smooth,  elaborate  old 
lady,  such  as  you  might  find  at  home  (mittened  also, 
but  not  often  so  well-mannered)  in  a  score  of  country- 
houses.  Only  Vaekehu's  mittens  were  of  dye,  not  of 
silk ;  and  they  had  been  paid  for,  not  in  money,  but  the 
cooked  flesh  of  men.  It  came  in  my  mind  like  a  clap, 
what  she  could  think  of  it  herself,  and  whether  at  heart, 
perhaps,  she  might  not  regret  and  aspire  after  the  bar- 
barous and  stirring  past.  But  when  I  asked  Stanilao: 
'Ah,'  said  he,  'she  is  content;  she  is  religious,  she 
passes  all  her  days  with  the  sisters/  "  l 

And  here  was  the  farewell  of  Prince  Stanilao,  an  in- 
telligent and  educated  gentleman,  from  whom  Steven- 
son had  learned  much  of  the  history  and  condition  of 

1  In  tbe  South  Seas,  p.  81. 
62 


SOUTH  SEA  CRUISES -i  888-89 

the  islands,  and  with  whom  he  had  spent  a  long  after- 
noon, telling  him  the  story  of  Gordon,  "and  many 
episodes  of  the  Indian  Mutiny,  Lucknow,  the  second 
battle  of  Cawnpore,  the  relief  of  Arrah,  the  death  of 
poor  Spottiswoode  and  Sir  Hugh  Rose's  hotspur  mid- 
land campaign."  How  many  white  men  would  have 
been  at  the  pains  to  give  so  much  instruction  or  so 
much  pleasure  to  a  native  in  a  foreign  possession  ?  This 
is  the  result:  "Ah,  vous  devriez  rester  ici,  mon  cher 
ami.  Vous  etes  les  gens  qu'il  faut  pour  les  Kanaques; 
vous  etes  doux,  vous  et  votre  famille;  vous  seriez  obeis 
dans  toutes  les  lies."1 

It  was  the  same  at  Anaho,  the  same  afterwards  in 
Atuona:  he  understood  the  natives;  he  treated  them 
with  understanding,  and  they  liked  him.  The  higher 
the  rank,  for  the  most  part,  the  greater  the  liking,  the 
more  complete  the  appreciation.  Vaekehu  and  Stanilao 
were  the  great  folk  of  the  archipelago;  Stevenson,  to 
whom  snobbishness  was  unknown,  found  them  also 
the  most  estimable. 

"  This  is  the  rule  in  Polynesia*  with  few  exceptions; 
the  higher  the  family,  the  better  the  man — better  in 
sense,  better  in  manners,  and  usually  taller  and  stronger 
in  body.  A  stranger  advances  blindfold.  He  scrapes 
acquaintance  as  he  can.  Save  the  tattoo  in  the  Mar- 
quesas, nothing  indicates  the  difference  in  rank;  and 
yet  almost  invariably  we  found,  after  we  had  made 
them,  that  our  friends  were  persons  of  station." 

But  his  attention  was  by  no  means  limited  to  natives; 
the  behaviour  that  he  enjoined  on  missionaries2  he 

i  In  the  South  Seas,  pp.  81,  87. 
a  Appendix  B,  vol.  ii.  p.  229 
63 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

exercised  freely  himself;  to  white  men  and  half-castes 
he  was  equally  genial  and  accessible.  The  governor 
and  the  gendarmes,  the  priests  and  the  lay-brothers, 
the  traders  and  the  "  Beach,"  all  found  him  kindly  and 
courteous,  and  the  best  of  company. 

The  Resident  carried  him  off  to  show  him  the  prison, 
but  it  was  empty ;  the  women  were  gone  calling  and 
the  men  were  shooting  goats  upon  the  mountains.  The 
gendarmes  told  him  stories  of  the  Franco-German  war, 
and  gave  him  charming  French  meals.  Of  the  mis- 
sionaries, the  portraits  of  the  great  and  good  Dordillon, 
the  veteran  bishop  only  just  dead,  and  of  Frere  Michel, 
the  architect,  may  be  found  in  the  South  Sea  volume ; 
from  Stevenson's  notes  I  give  the  charming  picture  of 
Pere  Simeon : — 

"  Pere  Simeon,  the  small  frail  figure  in  the  black  robe 
drawing  near  under  the  palms;  the  girlish,  kind  and 
somewhat  pretty  face  under  the  straw  hat;  the  strong 
rustic  Gascon  accent;  the  sudden  lively  doffing  of  the 
hat,  at  once  so  French  and  so  ecclesiastical ;  he  was  a 
man  you  could  not  look  upon  without  visions  of  his 
peasant  ancestors,  worthy  folk,  sitting  at  home  to-day 
in  France,  and  rejoiced  (I  hope  often)  with  letters  from 
their  boy.  Down  we  sat  together  under  the  eaves  of 
the  house  of  Taipi-Kikino,  and  were  presently  deep  in 
talk.  I  had  feared  to  meet  a  missionary,  feared  to  find 
the  narrowness  and  the  self-sufficiency  that  deface  their 
publications,  that  too  often  disgrace  their  behaviour. 
There  was  no  fear  of  it  here ;  Pere  Simeon  admired  these 
natives  as  I  do  myself,  admired  them  with  spiritual 
envy ;  the  superior  of  his  congregation  had  said  to  him 
on  his  departure:  'You  are  going  among  a  people 

64 


SOUTH   SEA  CRUISES -1888 -89 

more  civilised  than  we — peut-ttre  plus  civilists  que 
nous-mimes':  in  spite  of  which  warning,  having  read 
some  books  of  travel  on  his  voyage,  he  came  to  these 
shores  (like  myself)  expecting  to  find  them  peopled 
with  lascivious  monkeys.  Good  Bishop  Dordillon  had 
opened  his  eyes :  '  There  are  nothing  but  lies  in  books 
of  travel,'  said  the  bishop. 

"What  then  was  Pere  Simeon  doing  here?  The 
question  rose  in  my  mind,  and  I  could  see  that  he  read 
the  thought.  Truly  they  were  a  people,  on  the  whole, 
of  a  mind  far  liker  Christ's  than  any  of  the  races  of 
Europe;  no  spiritual  life,  almost  no  family  life,  but  a 
kindness,  a  generosity,  a  readiness  to  give  and  to  for- 
give, without  parallel;  to  some  extent  that  was  the 
bishop's  doing;  some  of  it  had  been  since  undone; 
death  runs  so  busy  in  their  midst,  total  extinction  so 
instantly  impended,  that  it  seemed  a  hopeless  task  to 
combat  their  vices;  as  they  were,  they  would  go  down 
in  the  abyss  of  things  past;  the  watchers  were  already 
looking  at  the  clock;  Pere  Simeon's  business  was  the 
visitation  of  the  sick,  to  smooth  the  pillows  of  this 
dying  family  of  man." 

In  contrast  to  this  melancholy  vigil  were  Stevenson's 
ecstasy  of  life  and  the  joy  with  which  he  entered  into 
gathering  shells  upon  the  shore.  Charles  Kingsley  was 
not  happier  when  landed  at  last  upon  the  tropical 
beach  he  had  been  longing  all  his  life  to  see. 

"  Ashore  to  the  cove  and  hunted  shells,  according  to 
my  prevision;  but  the  delight  of  it  was  a  surprise.  To 
stand  in  the  silver  margin  of  the  sea,  now  dry-shod, 
now  buried  to  the  ankle  in  the  thrilling  coolness,  now 
higher  than  the  knee;  to  watch,  as  the  reflux  drew 
H  65 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

down,  wonderful  marvels  of  colour  and  design  fleeting 
between  my  feet,  to  grasp  at,  to  miss,  to  seize  them ; 
and  now  to  find  them  what  they  promised,  and  now  to 
catch  only  maya  of  coloured  sand,  pounded  fragments, 
and  pebbles,  that,  as  soon  as  they  were  dry,  became  as 
dull  and  homely  as  the  flint  upon  a  garden  path.  I 
toiled  about  this  childish  pleasure  in  the  strong  sun  for 
hours,  sharply  conscious  of  my  incurable  ignorance, 
and  yet  too  much  pleased  to  be  ashamed.  Presently  I 
came  round  upon  the  shelves  that  line  the  bottom  of 
the  cliff;  and  there,  in  a  pool  where  the  last  of  the  surf 
sometimes  irrupted,  making  it  bubble  like  a  spring,  I 
found  my  best,  that  is,  my  strangest,  shell.  It  was 
large,  as  large  as  a  woman's  head,  rugged  as  rock,  in 
colour  variegated  with  green  and  orange;  but  alas,  the 
'  poor  inhabitant '  was  at  home.  On  the  struggles  of 
conscience  that  ensued  I  scorn  to  dwell;  but  my 
curiosity,  after  several  journeys  in  my  hand,  returned 
finally  to  his  rock  home,  of  whose  sides  he  greedily 
laid  hold,  and  he  gained  a  second  term  of  the  pleasures 
of  existence." 

On  August  22nd  the  Casco  left  Nukahiva,  and  arrived 
the  following  day  at  Taahauku  in  the  island  of  Hiva-oa, 
a  more  remote  and  even  more  thinly  populated  island. 
Here  they  stayed  twelve  days,  and  here  Stevenson  and 
his  family  went  through  the  ceremony  of  adoption  into 
the  family  of  Paa-aeua,  the  official  chief  of  Atuona, 
while  Mr.  Osbourne  "made  brothers  "  also  with  the 
deposed  hereditary  chief,  Moipu. 

These  observances  meant  anything  or  nothing,  ac- 
cording to  the  desire  of  the  initiated.  I  single  them  out 
for  mention  here  because  (apart  from  white  men  living 

66 


SOUTH   SEA   CRUISES- 1888-89 

among  the  Kanakas)  they  were  offered  to  and  accepted 
by  those  only  who,  like  Bishop  Dordillon,  had  a  close 
intimacy  and  sympathy  with  the  natives. 

Here  is  the  rough  sketch  of  their  last  berth  in  the 
Marquesas: — 

"  24tb  August.  — Taahauku  is  a  very  little  anchorage, 
set  between  low  points  sparsely  wooded  with  young 
palms,  and  opening  above  upon  a  woody  valley.  The 
next  bay,  Atuona,  is  set  in  a  theatre  of  lofty  mountains 
which  dominate  the  more  immediate  setting  of  Taa- 
hauku and  give  the  salient  character  of  the  scene.  In 
the  morning,  when  the  sun  falls  directly  on  their  front, 
they  stand  like  a  vast  wall  greened  to  the  summit, 
watercourses  here  and  there  delineated  on  their  face  as 
narrow  as  cracks.  But  towards  afternoon  the  light 
comes  more  obliquely,  gorges  yawn  in  undecipherable 
shadow,  spurs  and  buttresses  stand  out,  carved  in  sun- 
light; the  whole  range  looks  higher  and  more  solemn, 
and  wears  a  stern  appearance  of  romance.  It  looks, 
and  it  very  nearly  is,  impassable :  shutting  off  the  south- 
west corner  of  the  island  save  by  way  of  sea.  A  great 
part  of  the  charm  of  Taahauku  itself  lies  in  the  dominant 
contrast  of  that  mountain  barrier. 

"The  climate  is  that  of  the  trade- winds;  all  night 
long,  in  fine  weather,  the  same  attenuated  snowy  clouds 
fleet  over  the  moonlit  heaven,  or  hang  in  mists  upon 
the  mountain,  and  day  and  night,  save  for  the  chill 
draughts  of  the  land  breeze,  the  same  slightly  varying 
and  squally  wind  blows  overhead.  On  one  side  of  the 
anchorage  the  surf  leaps  white  upon  the  rocks  and 
keeps  a  certain  blow-hole  sounding  and  smoking  like  a 
cannon.  The  other  side  is  smoother  but  still  rocky; 

67 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

and  the  accepted  landing-place  is  on  the  narrow  beach 
at  the  shore  end,  where,  after  a  race  through  the  break- 
ing waves,  the  seaman  is  landed  in  a  somewhat  damp 
condition.  In  front  of  him  a  little  copra  warehouse 
stands  in  the  shadow  of  some  trees,  flitted  about  for 
ever  by  a  clan  of  dwarfish  swallows.  A  line  of  rails 
bends  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  valley  and  comes  to  the 
bend  of  the  beach ;  walking  on  which  the  ne  wly  arrived 
traveller  presently  becomes  aware  of  a  beautiful  fresh- 
water lagoon,  with  a  boat-house,  and  behind  that  a  grove 
of  noble  cocos." 

But  the  time  had  come  to  start  for  Tahiti  by  a  course 
lying  through  the  Paumotus  or  Dangerous  Archipelago, 
a  group  of  numerous  low  islands,  unlighted  save  for 
one  or  two  pier-head  lamps,  and  most  inadequately 
laid  down  upon  the  chart. 

For  this  reason  at  Taiohae  they  had  shipped  a  mate 
who  knew  those  waters  well.  The  much-travelled 
Japanese  cook  had  been  returned  to  his  home,  and  his 
place  taken  by  a  genuine  Chinaman.  Ah  Fu  came  to 
the  Marquesas  as  a  child  and  had  grown  up  among  the 
natives;  he  now  followed  the  fortunes  of  his  new  mas- 
ters with  entire  devotion  for  two  years,  until  the  claims 
of  his  family  were  asserted  and  took  him  home  reluc- 
tantly to  China.1 

1  Mrs.  Stevenson  writes:  "  In  fact  it  broke  his  heart  to  go.  Ah  Fu 
had  as  strong  a  sense  of  romance  as  Louis  himself.  He  returned  to 
China  with  a  belt  of  gold  round  his  waist,  a  ninety-dollar  breech- 
loader given  him  by  Louis,  and  a  boxful  of  belongings.  His  intention 
was  to  leave  these  great  riches  with  a  member  of  the  family  who  lived 
outside  the  village,  dress  himself  in  beggar's  rags,  and  go  to  his 
mother's  house  to  solicit  alms.  He  would  draw  from  her  the  account 
of  the  son  who  had  been  lost  when  he  was  a  little  child;  at  the  psy- 

68 


SOUTH   SEA   CRUISES -i  888-89 

On  September  4th  the  Casco  sailed,  and  three  days 
later,  before  sunset,  the  captain  expected  to  sight  the 
first  of  the  Paumotus. 

It  was  not,  however,  till  sunrise  on  the  following 
morning  that  they  saw  land,  and  then  it  was  not  the 
island  they  had  expected  to  make;  in  place  of  having 
been  driven  to  the  west,  they  had  been  swept  by  a  cur- 
rent some  thirty  miles  in  the  opposite  direction.  The 
first  atoll  was  "flat  as  a  plate  in  the  sea,  and  spiked 
with  palms  of  disproportioned  altitude."  The  next, 
seen  some  hours  later,  was  "  lost  in  blue  sea  and  sky: 
a  ring  of  white  beach,  green  underwood,  and  tossing 
palms,  gem-like  in  colour;  of  a  fairy,  of  a  heavenly 
prettiness.  The  surf  was  all  round  it,  white  as  snow, 
and  broke  at  one  point,  far  to  seaward,  on  what  seems 
an  uncharted  reef." 

Night  fell  again,  and  found  them  amid  a  wilderness  of 
reefs  corresponding  so  little  with  the  maps  that  the 
schooner  must  lie  to  and  wait  for  the  morning. 

The  next  day  they  ran  on  to  Fakarava,  and  entered 

chological  moment,  when  the  poor  lady  was  weeping,  Ah  Fu  would 
cry  out:  '  Behold  your  son  returned  to  you,  not  a  beggar,  as  I  appear, 
but  a  man  of  wealth ! '  Ah  Fu's  last  speech  to  me  was  very  unlike 
what  one  expects  from  a  Chinaman.  As  well  as  I  can  recollect,  he 
said:  '  You  think  I  no  solly  go  way?  I  too  much  solly.  My  mother 
she  forget  me.  You  heart  my  mother.  You  my  mother,  not  that 
woman.  When  boss  go  way  to  Molokai,  you  look  see  me?  I  no 
smile,  no  smile,  alleetime,  worklittee,  go  see  ship  come  —  work  littee, 
go  look  see.  Boss  come,  1  make  big  feast.  You  go  way,  I  no  go  look 
see  ship;  I  no  can,  I  no  see,  too  much  cly  allee  time  in  my  eyes. 
You  come,  1  smile,  smile,  no  can  make  feast;  my  heart  too  muchee 
glad,  no  can  cook.1 " 

Then  China  reabsorbed  him,  and  he  was  seen  no  more. 

69 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

the  lagoon  in  safety.  It  was  a  typical  low  island,  some 
eighty  miles  in  circumference  by  a  couple  of  hundred 
yards  broad,  chosen  to  be  the  headquarters  of  the  gov- 
ernment only  on  account  of  two  excellent  passages  in 
the  barrier  reef,  one  of  which  was  sure  to  be  always 
available. 

In  one  respect  they  were  fortunate :  "  We  were  scarce 
well  headed  for  the  pass  before  all  heads  were  craned 
over  the  rail.  For  the  water,  shoaling  under  our  board, 
became  changed  in  a  moment  to  surprising  hues  of  blue 
and  grey;  and  in  its  transparency  the  coral  branched 
and  blossomed,  and  the  fish  of  the  inland  sea  cruised 
visibly  below  us,  stained  and  striped,  and  even  beaked 
like  parrots.  ...  I  have  since  entered,  I  suppose,  some 
dozen  atolls  in  different  parts  of  the  Pacific,  and  the 
experience  has  never  been  repeated.  That  exquisite 
hue  and  transparency  of  submarine  day,  and  these  shoals 
of  rainbow  fish,  have  not  enraptured  me  again."1 

A  fortnight  spent  in  Fakarava  passed  uneventfully 
away.  There  were  few  inhabitants  left  on  the  island, 
which  was  never  very  populous  at  any  time.  Steven- 
son lived  ashore  in  a  house  among  the  palms,  where  he 
learned  much  of  the  natives  and  their  customs  and  beliefs 
from  the  half-caste  Vice-Resident,  M.  Donat 

The  chief  wealth  of  the  group  lay  in  the  beds  of  pearl- 
shell,  but  of  this  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  at  Faka- 
rava. "In  the  lagoon  was  little  pearl-shell,  and  there 
were  many  sharks.  .  .  .  There  was  no  fishing,  and 
it  seemed  unfit  to  leave  the  archipelago  of  pearls  and 
have  no  sight  of  that  romantic  industry.  On  all 
other  sides  were  isles,  if  I  could  only  reach  them,  where 

1  In  the  South  Seas,  p.  167. 
70 


SOUTH   SEA   CRUISES -i  888-89 

divers  were  at  work ;  but  Captain  Otis  properly  enough 
refused  to  approach  them  with  the  Casco,  and  my  at- 
tempts to  hire  another  vessel  failed.  The  last  was  upon 
Francois'  cutter,  where  she  lay  down-up  from  her  late 
shipwreck.  She  might  be  compared  for  safety  to  a  New 
York  cat-boat  fortified  with  a  bowsprit  and  a  jib ;  and 
as  I  studied  her  lines  and  spars,  desire  to  sail  in  her  upon 
the  high  seas  departed  from  my  mind.  'Je  le  pensais 
bien,'  said  Francois." 

In  the  last  week  of  September  they  left  for  Tahiti,  and 
in  two  days  were  anchored  safely  at  Papeete,  the  capi- 
tal and  port  of  entry  of  the  Society  group.  Beautiful  as  all 
the  high  islands  of  the  South  Seas  are,  it  is  in  Tahiti  and 
its  neighbours  —  the  Otaheite  of  Captain  Cook — that 
the  extreme  point  of  sublimity  and  luxuriance  is  reached. 
The  vegetation  is  not  less  lovely,  nor  the  streams  and 
waterfalls  less  beautiful  or  less  abundant  than  elsewhere, 
but  the  crags  and  pinnacles  of  the  lofty  mountains  there 
are  far  more  picturesque,  and  so  abrupt  that  they  are 
not  smothered  in  the  greenery  which  gives  an  appear- 
ance of  tameness  to  other  islands  in  the  same  latitudes. 

Stevenson  and  his  wife  lived  ashore  in  a  small  house, 
where  he  prepared  his  correspondence  for  the  outgoing 
mail.  He  was  very  unwell;  he  went  nowhere,  saw  no 
one  of  any  interest,  native  or  foreign,  and  soon  grew 
tired  of  Papeete.  A  cold  caught  at  Fakarava  increased, 
with  access  of  fever  and  an  alarming  cough.  He 
mended  a  little,  but  Papeete  was  not  a  success,  so  after 
a  time  the  Casco,  with  a  pilot  on  board,  took  the  party 
round  to  Taravao,  on  the  south  side  of  the  island.  On 
this  passage  they  were  twice  nearly  lost.  The  first 
day  they  had  a  long  beat  off  the  lee-shore  of  the  island 

7' 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

of  Eimeo;  and  the  following  day  were  suddenly  be- 
calmed, and  began  to  drift  towards  the  barrier  reef  of 
Tahiti.  "The  reefs  were  close  in,"  wrote  Stevenson,1 
"with,  my  eye!  what  a  surf!  The  pilot  thought  we 
were  gone,  and  the  captain  had  a  boat  cleared,  when  a 
lucky  squall  came  to  our  rescue.  My  wife,  hearing  the 
order  given  about  the  boats,  remarked  to  my  mother, 
'Is  n't  that  nice?  We  shall  soon  be  ashore!'  Thus 
does  the  female  mind  unconsciously  skirt  along  the 
verge  of  eternity."  Their  danger  was  undoubtedly 
great,  greater  far  than  they  suspected. 

The  atmosphere  at  Taravao  was  close,  and  mos- 
quitoes were  numerous;  by  this  time  Stevenson  was  so 
ill  that  it  was  necessary,  without  a  moment's  delay,  to 
secure  more  healthy  quarters.  Accordingly  his  wife 
went  ashore,  and  following  a  path,  discovered  the 
shanty  of  a  Chinaman  who  owned  a  wagon  and  a  pair 
of  horses.  These  she  hired  to  take  them  to  Tautira, 
the  nearest  village  of  any  size,  a  distance  of  sixteen 
miles  over  a  road  crossed  by  one-and-twenty  streams. 
Stevenson  was  placed  in  the  cart,  and,  sustained  by 
small  doses  of  coca,  managed,  with  the  help  of  his  wife 
and  Valentine,  to  reach  his  destination  before  he  col- 
lapsed altogether.  Being  introduced  at  Tautira  by  the 
gendarme,  they  were  asked  an  exorbitant  rent  for  a 
suitable  house,  but  they  secured  it,  and  there  made  the 
patient  as  comfortable  as  possible.  The  next  day  there 
arrived  the  Princess  Moe,  ex-Queen  of  Raiatea,  one  of 
the  kindest  and  most  charming  of  Tahitians,  who  lives 
in  the  pages  of  Pierre  Loti  and  Miss  Gordon  Gumming. 
She  had  come  to  the  village,  and  hearing  there  was  a 

1  Letters,  ii.  137. 
72 


SOUTH   SEA  CRUISES- 1 888-89 

white  man  very  ill,  she  came  over  to  the  house.  "I 
feel  that  she  saved  Louis'  life,"  writes  Mrs.  Stevenson. 
"  He  was  lying  in  a  deep  stupor  when  she  first  saw 
him,  suffering  from  congestion  of  the  lungs  and  in  a 
burning  fever.  As  soon  as  he  was  well  enough,  she 
invited  us  to  live  with  her  in  the  house  of  Ori,  the  sub- 
chief  of  the  village,  and  we  gladly  accepted  her  invita- 
tion." 

Meanwhile,  at  Taravao,  it  was  discovered  that  the 
schooner's  jib-boom  was  sprung;  it  was  duly  spliced, 
and  when  Stevenson  was  really  better,  the  Casco  came 
round  to  Tautira.  Here  a  more  startling  discovery  was 
made,  and  the  party  learned  what  their  true  position 
had  been  two  or  three  weeks  before.  The  elder  Mrs. 
Stevenson  gave  a  feast  on  board  to  the  women  of 
Tautira,  and  one  old  lady  offered  up  a  prayer,  asking 
that  if  anything  were  wrong  with  the  masts  it  might  be 
discovered  in  time.  As  soon  as  the  guests  were  gone, 
the  Yankee  skipper,  acting  no  doubt  on  the  principle 
of  keeping  his  powder  dry,  went  aloft,  and  subjected 
the  masts  to  a  close  examination.  They  were  both 
almost  eaten  out  with  dry-rot.  Had  either  of  them 
gone  by  the  board  during  the  voyage  in  the  Moorea 
channel,  or  off  the  reefs  in  any  of  the  islands,  nothing 
could  have  saved  the  Casco,  even  if  her  passengers  and 
crew  had  escaped  in  one  of  the  boats.  It  was  now 
considered  hardly  safe  for  any  one  to  remain  on  deck; 
but,  with  many  reefs  in  her  mainsail,  the  schooner  was 
sent  to  Papeete,  where  the  masts  were  patched  up  as 
far  as  was  possible,  no  new  spars  of  sufficient  size 
being  obtainable. 

The  intended  visit  to  the  neighbouring  islands  of 
73 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Huahine,  Raiatea,  and  Borabora  was  abandoned,  Steven- 
son and  his  party  remaining  at  Tautira  until  the  Casco 
should  be  ready  to  take  them  back  to  civilisation.  His 
health  again  recovered,  and  he  enjoyed  the  new  condi- 
tions of  life  beyond  words  —  scenery,  climate,  and 
company.  Tautira  was  "  the  most  beautiful  spot "  and 
"its  people  the  most  amiable  "  he  had  ever  encountered. 
Except  for  the  French  gendarme  and  Pere  Bruno,  the 
priest,  a  Dutchman  from  Amsterdam  who  had  forgotten 
his  own  language,  the  travellers  had  passed  beyond  the 
range  of  Europeans  and  lived  in  a  Tahiti  touched  as 
little  as  might  be  by  any  foreign  influence.  They  dwelt 
in  one  of  the  curious  "bird-cage  "  houses  of  the  island, 
and  were  on  the  friendliest  terms  with  all  the  village. 

Their  host,  Ori,  was  a  perpetual  delight  to  them  all. 
"A  Life-guardsman  in  appearance,"  as  Mr.  Osbourne 
describes  him,  "six  foot  three  in  bare  feet;  deep  and 
broad  in  proportion;  unconsciously  English  to  an 
absurd  extent;  feared,  respected,  and  loved." 

It  was  one  of  the  happiest  periods  in  the  exile's  life, 
and  perhaps  in  consequence  his  "journal,"  an  irregu- 
larly kept  notebook,  was  dropped,  never  to  be  resumed. 
And  so  it  happens  that  to  this  passage  in  his  life  he  never 
returned,  pen  in  hand,  and  of  it  he  has  left  no  other  record 
than  one  or  two  pages  in  his  correspondence. 

He  "actually  went  sea-bathing  almost  every  day"; 
he  collected  songs  and  legends,  materials  for  the  great 
book;  he  began  to  work  once  more  at  his  novel,  The 
Master  of  Ballantrae,  and  "almost  finished"  it.  At 
Moe's  instance  special  exhibitions  of  the  old  songs  and 
dances  of  Tahiti  were  given  for  him  in  the  hall  of 
assembly  in  Tautira.  He  was  adopted  into  the  clan  of 

74 


SOUTH   SEA  CRUISES- 1 888-89 

the  Tevas,  to  which  Ori  belonged,  and  exchanged 
names  with  that  chief,  who  thenceforward  signed  him- 
self as  "Rui,"1  Louis  himself  receiving  also,  in  more 
formal  fashion,  the  name  of  Teriitera. 

He  now  wrote  the  greater  part  of  his  two  Poly- 
nesian ballads,  The  Feast  of  Famine,  relating  to  the 
Marquesas,  and  The  Song  of  Rahtro,  a  genuine  legend 
of  the  Tevas.  In  the  same  days,  however,  his  music 
brought  him  to  write  for  the  old  Scots  tune  of  "  Wan- 
dering Willie  "  that  most  pathetic  cry  of  his  exile — 

"  Home  no  more  home  to  me,  whither  must  I  wander?" 

almost  the  only  complaint,  even  in  a  dramatic  form, 
that  he  ever  allowed  himself  to  make. 

The  repairs  of  the  Casco  took  an  unexpected  time; 
the  weather  became  bad,  and  a  stormy  sea  and  rivers 
in  flood  prevented  any  communication  between  Tautira 
and  Papeete.  The  visitors  used  up  all  their  money: 
Ori  had  taken  charge  of  it  for  them  and  doled  it  out, 
a  small  piece  at  a  time,  until  all  was  gone.  Their  sup- 
plies of  food  being  exhausted,  they  were  reduced  to 
living  on  the  bounty  of  the  natives,  and  though  Steven- 
son himself  continued  to  eat  sucking-pig  with  continual 
enjoyment,  the  others  pined  for  a  change.  When  time 
passed  and  no  ship  came,  the  whole  country-side  began 
to  join  in  their  anxiety.  Each  morning,  as  soon  as  the 
dawn  lifted,  a  crowd  ran  to  the  beach,  and  the  cry 
came  back:  "  E  ita  pabi  !  "  (No  ship.) 

At  last  Ori  took  a  party  of  young  men  in  a  whale- 
boat,  although  the  weather  was  still  bad,  and  went  to 
Papeete  to  find  out  the  cause  of  the  delay.  "  When 

1  I.e.  Louis  :  there  being  no  L  in  Tahitian. 
75 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Ori  left,"  says  Mrs.  Stevenson,  "  we  besought  him  not 
to  go,  for  we  knew  he  was  risking  the  lives  of  himself 
and  his  men.  Then  he  was  gone  a  week  overtime, 
which  made  us  heart-sick.  He  brought  back  the  neces- 
sary money  and  a  store  of  provisions,  and  a  letter  from 
the  captain  telling  us  when  to  look  for  him.  Amongst 
the  food  was  a  basket  of  champagne.  The  next  day 
we  gave  a  commemoration  dinner  to  Ori,  when  we 
produced  the  champagne.  Ori  drank  his  glass  and 
announced  it  beyond  excellence,  a  drink  for  chiefs.  '  I 
shall  drink  it  continually,'  he  added,  pouring  out  a 
fresh  glass.  '  What  is  the  cost  of  it  by  the  bottle  ? ' 
Louis  told  him,  whereupon  Ori  solemnly  replaced  his 
full  glass,  saying,  '  It  is  not  fit  that  even  kings  should 
drink  a  wine  so  expensive  ! '  It  took  him  days  to  re- 
cover from  the  shock." 

At  last  the  Casco  was  ready  for  sea,  and  on  Christmas 
Day  the  party  embarked  for  Honolulu.  The  farewell 
with  Ori  was  heart-breaking,  and  all  vowed  never  again 
to  stay  so  long  as  two  months  in  one  place,  or  to  form 
so  deep  and  yet  so  brief  a  friendship. 

They  sighted  the  outlying  Paumotus  and  the  mail 
schooner,  and  after  that  their  voyage  was  without  other 
incident  than  squalls  and  calms.  For  a  while  they 
skirted  hurricane  weather,  though  nothing  came  of  it; 
but  between  calms  and  contrary  winds  their  progress 
was  slow,  and  they  nearly  ran  out  of  provisions.  "  We 
were  nearly  a  week  hanging  about  the  Hawaiian  group," 
says  Mr.  Osbourne,  "  drifting  here  and  there  with  differ- 
ent faint  slants  of  wind.  We  had  little  luxuries  kept 
back  for  our  farewell  dinner  —  which  took  place  at  least 
three  times  with  a  diminishing  splendour  that  finally 

76 


SOUTH  SEA   CRUISES -i  888-89 

struck  bottom  on  salt  horse.  It  was  a  strange  experience 
to  see  the  distant  lights  of  Honolulu,  and  then  go  to  bed 
hungry;  to  rise  again  in  the  morning  and  find  ourselves, 
not  nearer,  but  further  off.  When  at  last  the  weather 
altered  and  we  got  our  wind,  it  was  a  snoring  Trade, 
and  we  ran  into  the  harbour  like  a  steamboat.  It  was 
a  dramatic  entry  for  the  overdue  and  much-talked-of 
Casco,  flashing  past  the  buoys  and  men-of-war,  with 
the  pilot  in  a  panic  of  alarm.  If  the  Casco  ever  did 
thirteen  knots,  she  did  it  then." 

Arrived  at  Honolulu  they  found  that  their  safety  had 
been  despaired  of  by  all,  including  even  Mrs.  Stevenson's 
daughter,  Mrs.  Strong,  who  was  then  living  there  with 
her  husband  and  child. 

Of  the  capital  city  of  the  Hawaiian  kingdom  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  give  any  true  impression,  so  curious  in  those 
days  was  the  mixture  of  native  life  and  civilisation.  To 
any  one  coming  from  the  islands  it  seemed  a  purely 
American  city  —  not  of  the  second  or  even  of  the  third 
rank,  modified  only  by  its  position  in  the  verge  of  the 
tropics;  for  any  one  who  entered  these  latitudes  and 
saw  a  native  population  for  the  first  time,  it  must  have 
been  picturesque  and  exotic  beyond  words. 

Stevenson  sent  the  yacht  back  to  San  Francisco,  and 
took  a  house  at  Waikiki,  some  four  miles  from  Honolulu 
along  the  coast.  Here  he  took  up  his  abode  in  a  lanai — 
a  sort  of  large  pavilion,  off  which  the  bedrooms  opened, 
built  on  native  lines,  and  provided  only  with  jalousied 
shutters;  and  here  he  settled  down  in  earnest  to  finish 
The  Master  of  Ballantrae —  "the  hardest  job  I  ever  had 
to  do" — already  running  in  Scribner's  Magazine,  and 
to  be  completed  within  a  given  time. 

77 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

He  did  not  end  his  task  till  May — "  The  Master  is 
finished,  and  I  am  quite  a  wreck  and  do  not  care  for 
literature  " —  for  it  went  against  the  grain,  with  the  result 
that  the  Canadian  scenes  have  the  effect  rather  of  a 
hasty  expedient  than  of  the  deliberate  climax  of  the 
plot.1  So  careful  was  Stevenson  in  his  workmanship, 
and  so  accurate  in  his  knowledge  of  Scotland,  that  it  is 
curious  to  find  him  stumbling  at  the  very  outset  of  his 
tale,  and  giving  an  impossible  title  to  his  hero,  for  by 
invariable  Scottish  usage  James  Durie  would  have  been 
"  Master  of  Durrisdeer"  and  not  "of  Ballantrae."  Ste- 
venson was  afterwards  aware  of  the  slip,  but  had  fancied 
that  there  were  instances  to  the  contrary.  However, 
his  cousin,  Sir  James  Balfour  Paul,  Lyon  King-at-Arms, 
tells  me  that  he  can  find  "no  exact  precedent  for  the 
eldest  son  of  a  baron  assuming  a  title  as  Master  differ- 
ing in  name  from  that  which  his  father  bore."2 

But  this  was  a  point  of  mere  antiquarian  detail,  which 
in  no  way  interfered  with  the  appreciation  of  his  read- 

1  Compare  vol.  ii.  p.  38. 

2  The  only  other  slip  in  reference  to  Scotland  which,  so  far  as  I  am 
aware,  has  been  found  in  Stevenson's  works,  is  the  statement  that 
Gaelic  was  still  spoken  in  Fife  as  late  as  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth 
century  (Catriona,  p.   191;  Letters,  ii.  248).     This  was  based  on  a 
statement  of  Burt  to  the  effect  that  the  families  of  Fife,  when  their  sons 
went  to  the  Lowlands  as  apprentices,  made  it  a  condition  in  the  inden- 
tures of  apprenticeship  that  they  should  be  taught  English.     Sheriff 
/Eneas  Mackay,  the  chief  historical  authority  on    Fife,  very  kindly 
informs  me  that  he  doubts  the  fact  and  the  authority  of  Burt,  and 
after  adducing  various  evidence  against  the  possibility  of  this  survival, 
concludes:  "The  Ochils  bordered  on  the  Celtic  line,  and  I  should  not 
like  to  affirm  that  Gaelic  may  not  have  lingered  there  till  the  sixteenth 
century.     I  don't  think  it  did  later,  or  that  it  was  habitually  spoken 
after  the  twelfth  or  thirteenth  century." 

78 


SOUTH   SEA  CRUISES -i  888-89 

ers;  and  when  the  story  was  finally  published  in  the 
autumn,  it  was  at  once  recognised  on  all  hands  as  the 
sternest  and  loftiest  note  of  tragedy  which  its  author 
had  yet  delivered.  "I  'm  not  strong  enough  to  stand 
writing  of  that  kind,"  said  Sir  Henry  Yule,  on  his  death- 
bed, to  Mr.  Crockett,  who  had  been  reading  it  to  him ; 
"it 's  grim  as  the  road  to  Lucknow." 

In  the  meantime,  though  Stevenson  was  constantly 
unwell,  even  his  want  of  health  at  the  worst  of  these 
times  was  very  different  from  his  invalid  life  at  Bourne- 
mouth. He  retired  with  his  wife  to  a  small  and  less 
draughty  cottage  about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  lanai, 
and  there  continued  his  work  as  before. 

The  little  colony  was  very  comfortably  settled.  Valen- 
tine had  left  their  service  and  departed  to  America,  but 
Ah  Fu  had  established  himself  in  the  kitchen  with  his 
pots  and  pans. 

In  spite  of  his  worse  health,  Stevenson  was  able  to 
go  about  as  usual,  and  saw  a  good  many  people,  es- 
pecially in  the  large  circle  of  his  stepdaughter's  ac- 
quaintance. Through  this  connection  he  found  from 
the  beginning  a  ready  entrte  to  the  Royal  Palace,  where 
Kalakaua,  the  last  of  the  Hawaiian  kings,  held  his  court 
of  Yvetot:  a  large,  handsome,  genial,  dissipated  mon- 
arch, a  man  of  real  ability  and  iron  constitution,  versed 
beyond  any  of  his  subjects  in  the  history  and  legends  of 
his  kingdom.  From  the  very  beginning  of  the  acquain- 
tance his  relations  with  Stevenson  were  most  friendly 
in  no  conventional  sense.  They  genuinely  liked  one 
another  from  the  start,  and  Kalakaua,  holding  out  every 
inducement,  really  tried  very  hard  to  get  his  visitor  to 
settle  in  Hawaii. 

79 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT  LOUIS   STEVENSON 

At  Honolulu  Stevenson  already  began  to  hear  a  good 
deal  of  Samoa  and  its  troubles,  for  several  of  his  new 
friends  had  formed  part  of  the  amazing  embassy 
Kalakaua  had  sent  to  Apia  in  the  preceding  year  to 
propose  a  native  federation  of  the  Polynesian  Islands. 
It  was  on  the  information  now  received  that  he  was 
driven  to  write  the  first  of  his  letters  to  the  Times. 

The  letter  appeared  on  the  nth  March,  and  before 
the  week  was  out  there  occurred  the  great  Samoan 
hurricane  which  sunk  or  stranded  six  men-of-war  in 
the  harbour  of  Apia,  when  the  Calliope  alone,  by  virtue 
of  her  engines,  steamed  out  of  the  gap  in  the  very  teeth 
of  the  gale. 

Immediately  afterwards,  Stevenson  records  a  curious 
episode  at  Honolulu  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Baxter:  — 

"  2jtb  April,  1889.  —  A  pretty  touch  of  seaman  man- 
ners: the  English  and  American  Jacks  are  deadly  rivals: 
well,  after  all  this  hammering  of  both  sides  by  the 
Germans,  and  then  the  news  of  the  hurricane  from 
Samoa,  a  singular  scene  occurred  here  the  Sunday  be- 
fore last.  The  two  church  parties  sponte  propria  fell  in 
line  together,  one  Englishman  to  one  American,  and 
marched  down  to  the  harbour  like  one  ship's  company. 
None  were  more  surprised  than  their  own  officers.  I 
have  seen  a  hantle  of  the  seaman  on  this  cruise ;  I  al- 
ways liked  him  before;  my  first  crew  on  the  Casco 
(five  sea-lawyers)  near  cured  me;  but  1  have  returned 
to  my  first  love." 

At  Samoa  we  shal!  see  that  he  had  many  friends  in 
the  navy;  and  in  nothing  did  he  take  more  delight  than 
in  their  company  and  friendship.  Of  this  there  was 
already  a  beginning  at  Honolulu  with  the  wardroom  of 

80 


SOUTH  SEA   CRUISES -1888 -89 

H.  B.  M.  S.  Cormorant.  "I  had  been  twice  to  lunch 
on  board,  and  H.  B.  M.'s  seamen  are  making  us  ham- 
mocks; so  we  are  very  naval.  But  alas,  the  Cor- 
morant is  only  waiting  her  relief,  and  I  fear  there  are 
not  two  ships  of  that  stamp  in  all  the  navies  of  the 
world." 

The  hammocks  were  part  of  his  preparations  for  a 
new  cruise.  He  had  arrived  with  the  intention  of  cross- 
ing America  during  the  course  of  the  summer,  and  so 
returning  to  England,  with  ultimate  views  of  Madeira 
as  a  winter  refuge.  But  even  Honolulu  was  too  cold 
for  him,  and  by  the  end  of  March  he  was  full  of  another 
scheme  of  South  Sea  travel.  This  time  his  voyage  was 
to  be  to  the  Gilbert  Islands  to  the  southwest,  on  board 
the  vessel  belonging  to  the  Boston  Mission  or  whatever 
other  craft  he  could  induce  to  take  him.  His  mother 
decided  to  return  to  Scotland  and  visit  her  sister,  but 
his  wife  and  stepson  looked  eagerly  forward  to  sharing 
with  him  this  new  experience. 

In  the  end  of  April  he  paid  a  visit  by  himself  to  the 
lee-shore  of  the  island  of  Hawaii,  which  is  seen  by 
tourists  only,  if  at  all,  upon  their  way  to  the  active 
crater  of  Kilauea,  situated  on  the  slopes  of  the  lofty 
volcano  of  Mauna  Loa.  Even  the  lower  crater  is  four 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and  the  climate  in  that 
region  is  often  bleak  and  rainy.  Accordingly  Stevenson 
did  not  turn  his  steps  in  its  direction,  but  spent  a  week 
on  the  coast-lands,  living  with  a  native  judge,  taking 
long  rides,  and  seeing  and  learning  as  much  of  native 
life  and  characteristics  as  lay  within  his  reach;  the  most 
thrilling  event  of  the  visit  being  the  departure  of  some 
natives  to  be  immured  in  the  lazaretto  of  Molokai. 

H  81 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

A  month  later  he  visited  the  island  of  Molokai  itself, 
and  spent  by  special  permission  a  week  in  the  leper 
settlement.  Father  Damien  had  died  on  the  i$th  of 
April,  so  that  Stevenson  heard  only  by  report  of  the 
man  whose  memory  he  did  so  much  to  vindicate. 

The  scene  of  Damien's  labours  is  one  of  the  most 
striking  places  in  the  world.  A  low  promontory,  some 
three  miles  long,  with  a  village  upon  either  side  of  it, 
lies  at  the  foot  of  a  beetling  precipice  that  shuts  it  off 
from  the  remainder  of  the  island,  to  which  there  is  no 
access  except  by  a  most  difficult  bridle-track.  Hither, 
since  1865,  have  been  sent  all  persons  in  the  group  who 
are  found  to  have  contracted  leprosy,  and  here  they  are 
tended  by  doctor  and  priest,  by  officers  and  sisters  and 
nurses,  until  they  die.  Who  can  do  justice  to  such  a 
place,  to  such  a  scene  ?  Here  Stevenson  spent  a  week, 
and  afterwards  wrote  a  fragmentary  and  incomplete 
account  of  his  visit.  The  best  record  of  it  is  contained 
in  the  letters  written  at  the  time  to  his  wife,  and  shortly 
afterwards  to  James  Payn  and  Mr.  Colvin.  The  de- 
scription of  his  landing  cannot  be  omitted. 

"Our  lepers  were  sent  [from  the  steamer]  in  the  first 
boat,  about  a  dozen,  one  poor  child  very  horrid,  one 
white  man  leaving  a  large  grown  family  behind  him  in 
Honolulu,  and  then  into  the  second  stepped  the  sisters 
and  myself.  I  do  not  know  how  it  would  have  been 
with  me  had  the  sisters  not  been  there.  My  horror  of 
the  horrible  is  about  my  weakest  point;  but  the  moral 
loveliness  at  my  elbow  blotted  all  else  out;  and  when  I 
found  that  one  of  them  was  crying,  poor  soul,  quietly 
under  her  veil,  I  cried  a  lir.le  myself;  then  I  felt  as  right 
as  a  trivet,  only  a  little  crushed  to  be  there  so  uselessly. 

8a 


SOUTH   SEA  CRUISES -i 888-89 

I  thought  it  was  a  sin  and  a  shame  she  should  feel  un- 
happy; I  turned  round  to  her,  and  said  something  like 
this :  '  Ladies,  God  himself  is  here  to  give  you  wel- 
come. I  'm  sure  it  is  good  for  me  to  be  beside  you;  I 
hope  it  will  be  blessed  to  me;  I  thank  you  for  myself 
and  the  good  you  do  me.'  It  seemed  to  cheer  her  up; 
but  indeed  I  had  scarce  said  it  when  we  were  at  the 
landing-stairs,  and  there  was  a  great  crowd,  hundreds 
of  (God  save  us!)  pantomime  masks  in  poor  human 
flesh,  waiting  to  receive  the  sisters  and  the  new  patients. 

"...  Gilfillan,  a  good  fellow,  I  think,  and  far  from 
a  stupid,  kept  up  his  hard  Lowland  Scottish  talk  in  the 
boat  while  the  sister  was  covering  her  face;  but  I  believe 
he  knew,  and  did  it  (partly)  in  embarrassment,  and 
part  perhaps  in  mistaken  kindness.  And  that  was  one 
reason,  too,  why  I  made  my  speech  to  them.  Partly, 
too,  I  did  it  because  I  was  ashamed  to  do  so,  and  re- 
membered one  of  my  golden  rules,  'When  you  are 
ashamed  to  speak,  speak  up  at  once.'  But,  mind  you, 
that  rule  is  only  golden  with  strangers;  with  your  own 
folks,  there  are  other  considerations."1 

His  general  conclusions  at  the  time  were  thus  ex- 
pressed:—  "On  the  whole,  the  spectacle  of  life  in  this 
marred  and  moribund  community,  with  its  idleness,  its 
furnished  table,  its  horse-riding,  music,  and  gallantries 
under  the  shadow  of  death,  confounds  the  expectations 
of  the  visitor.  He  cannot  observe  with  candour,  but 
he  must  see  it  is  not  only  good  for  the  world,  but  best 
for  the  lepers  themselves  to  be  thus  set  apart.  The 
place  is  a  huge  hospital,  but  a  hospital  under  extraor- 
dinary conditions;  in  which  the  disease,  though  both 

1  Letters,  ii.  154-156. 

8? 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

ugly  and  incurable,  is  of  a  slow  advance;  in  which  the 
patients  are  rarely  in  pain,  often  capable  of  violent  exer- 
tion, all  bent  on  pleasure,  and  all,  within  the  limits  of 
the  precinct,  free.  .  .  .  The  case  of  the  children  is  by 
far  the  most  sad;  and  yet  (thanks  to  Damien,  and  that 
great  Hawaiian  lady,  the  kind  Mrs.  Bishop,  and  to  the 
kind  sisters)  their  hardship  has  been  minimised.  Even 
the  boys  in  the  still  rude  boys'  home  at  Kalawao  ap- 
peared cheerful  and  youthful ;  they  interchange  diver- 
sions in  the  boy's  way;  one  week  are  all  for  football, 
and  the  next  the  devotees  of  marbles  or  of  kites:  have 
fiddles,  drums,  guitars,  and  penny  whistles:  some  can 
touch  the  organ,  and  all  combine  in  concerts.  As  for 
the  girls  in  the  Bishop  Home,  of  the  many  beautiful 
things  I  have  been  privileged  to  see  in  life,  they,  and 
what  has  been  done  for  them,  are  not  the  least  beauti- 
ful. When  I  came  there  first,  the  sisters  and  the  major- 
ity of  the  boarders  were  gone  up  the  hill  upon  a  weekly 
treat,  guava-hunting;  and  only  Mother  Mary  Anne  and 
the  specially  sick  were  left  at  home.  I  was  told  things 
which  I  heard  with  tears,  of  which  I  sometimes  think  at 
night,  and  which  I  spare  the  reader;  I  was  shown  the 
sufferers  then  at  home;  one,  I  remember,  white  with 
pain,  the  tears  standing  in  her  eyes.  But,  thank  God, 
pain  is  not  the  rule  in  this  revolting  malady:  and  the 
general  impression  of  the  house  was  one  of  cheerfulness, 
cleanliness,  and  comfort.  The  dormitories  were  airy, 
the  beds  neatly  made;  at  every  bed-head  was  a  trophy 
of  Christmas  cards,  pictures,  and  photographs,  some 
framed  with  shells,  and  all  arranged  with  care  and  taste. 
In  many  of  the  beds,  besides,  a  doll  lay  pillowed.  I 
was  told  that,  in  that  artificial  life,  the  eldest  and  the 

84 


SOUTH   SEA  CRUISES -i 888-89 

youngest  were  equally  concerned  with  these  infantile 
playthings,  and  the  dressmaking,  in  particular,  was 
found  an  inexhaustible  resource.  Plays  of  their  own 
arrangement  were  a  favourite  evening  pastime.  They 
had  a  croquet  set;  and  it  was  my  single  useful  employ- 
ment during  my  stay  in  the  lazaretto  to  help  them  with 
that  game.1  I  know  not  if  the  interest  in  croquet  sur- 
vived my  departure,  but  it  was  lively  while  I  stayed; 
and  the  last  time  I  passed  there  on  my  way  to  the 
steamer's  boat  and  freedom,  the  children  crowded  to 
the  fence  and  hailed  and  summoned  me  with  cries  of 
welcome.  I  wonder  I  found  the  heart  to  refuse  the 
invitation." 

After  leaving  the  confines  of  the  leper  settlement  the 
steamer  landed  him  upon  another  part  of  the  island, 
where  he  and  the  captain  took  horse  and  rode  a  long 
way  to  the  house  of  some  Irish  folk,  where  Stevenson 
slept.  Next  day  he  continued  with  a  native  guide  until 
he  reached  the  summit  of  the  pass  above  Kalawao, 
down  which  alone  the  settlement  could  be  entered  by 
land.  Here  the  overseer  lived,  and  with  him  Stevenson 
stayed  and  had  much  talk. 

Of  his  ride  across  the  island  he  wrote:  —  "Maui 
behind  us  towered  into  clouds  and  the  shadow  of 
clouds.  The  bare  opposite  island  of  Lanai  —  the  reef  far 
out,  enclosing  a  dirty,  shoal  lagoon  —  a  range  of  fish- 
ponds, large  as  docks,  and  the  slope  of  the  shady  beach 

1  He  was  advised  by  Mother  Mary  Anne  to  wear  gloves  when  he 
played  croquet  with  the  leper  children.  He  would  not  do  it,  however, 
as  he  thought  it  might  remind  them  of  their  condition.  After  he  re- 
turned to  Honolulu  he  sent  Mother  Mary  Anne  a  grand  piano  for  her 
leper  girls. 

85 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

on  which  we  mostly  rode,  occupied  the  left  hand.  On 
the  right  hand  the  mountain  rose  in  steeps  of  red  clay 
and  spouts  of  disintegrated  rock,  sparsely  dotted  with 
the  white-flowering  cow-thistle.  Here  and  there  along 
the  foreshore  stood  a  lone  pandanus,  and  once  a  trinity 
of  dishevelled  palms.  In  all  the  first  part  of  that  jour- 
ney, I  recall  but  three  houses  and  a  single  church. 
Plenty  of  horses,  kine,  and  sullen-looking  bulls  were 
there,  but  not  a  human  countenance.  'Where  are 
the  people  ? '  I  asked.  '  Pan  Kanaka  mate  :  done : 
people  dead,'  replied  the  guide,  with  the  singular 
childish  giggle  which  the  traveller  soon  learns  to  be  a 
mark  of  Polynesian  sensibility. 

"  We  rode  all  the  time  by  the  side  of  the  great  fish- 
ponds, the  labour  (you  would  say)  of  generations.  The 
riches  and  the  agriculture  of  Molokai  awoke  of  yore  the 
envy  of  neighbouring  kings.  Only  last  century  a  battle 
was  fought  upon  this  island  in  which  it  has  been  com- 
puted that  thousands  were  engaged;  and  he  who  made 
the  computation,  though  he  lived  long  after,  had  seen 
and  counted,  when  the  wind  blew  aside  the  sands,  the 
multitude  of  bones  and  skulls.  There  remains  the 
evidence  of  the  churches,  not  yet  old  and  already 
standing  in  a  desert,  the  monuments  of  vanished  con- 
gregations. Pau  Kanaka  mah6.  A  sense  of  survival 
attended  me  upon  my  ride,  and  the  nervous  laughter 
of  Apaka  sounded  in  my  ears  not  quite  unpleasantly. 
The  place  of  the  dead  is  clean;  there  is  a  poetry  in 
empty  lands. 

''A  greener  track  received  us;  smooth  shore-side 
grass  was  shaded  with  groves  and  islets  of  acacias;  the 
hills  behind,  from  the  red  colour  of  the  soil  and  the  sin- 

86 


SOUTH  SEA  CRUISES -i 888-89 

gularity  ot  the  formation,  had  the  air  of  a  bare  Scottish 
moorland  in  the  bleak  end  of  autumn;  and  the  resem- 
blance set  a  higher  value  on  the  warmth  of  the  sun  and 
the  brightness  of  the  sea.  I  wakened  suddenly  to 
remember  Kalaupapa  and  my  playmates  of  two  days 
before.  Could  I  have  forgotten  ?  Was  I  happy  again  ? 
Had  the  shadow,  the  sorrow,  and  the  obligation  faded 
already  ?  " 

From  this  expedition  he  returned  to  complete  his 
preparations  for  immediate  departure.  The  family  now 
possessed  an  unrivalled  fund  of  information  about  "  the 
Islands,"  and  had  accumulated  not  only  the  necessary 
stores  but  also  a  collection  of  all  the  resources  of  civili- 
sation best  fitted  to  appeal  to  the  native  heart,  ranging 
from  magic  lanterns  and  American  hand-organs  to 
"  cheap  and  bad  cigars."  The  only  difficulty  was  the 
ship,  and  the  Morning  Star  not  being  available,  the 
Equator,  a  trading  schooner  of  sixty-two  tons  register, 
Captain  Denis  Reid,  was  chartered.  The  terms  agreed 
upon  were  original  and  entertaining;  Stevenson  paid  a 
lump  sum  down  for  a  four  months'  cruise,  with  a  pro- 
viso for  renewal,  if  necessary.  The  ship  agreed  for  a 
fixed  daily  extra  price  to  land  at  any  place  in  the  line  of 
its  trading  cruise  on  Stevenson's  written  demand.  On 
the  other  hand,  when  it  stopped  anywhere  for  its  own 
business,  were  it  only  to  land  a  sewing-machine  or  to 
take  on  board  a  ton  of  copra,  it  was  bound,  if  the  char- 
terer so  desired,  to  remain  there  three  days  without 
extra  charge. 

The  24th  of  June  arrived :  Stevenson  and  his  wife 
and  stepson  were  on  board  with  the  indispensable  Ah 
Fu,  and  the  schooner  was  ready  to  cast  off.  At  the 

87 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

last  moment  two  fine  carriages  drove  down  at  full  speed 
to  the  wharf  and  there  deposited  King  Kalakaua  and 
a  party  of  his  native  musicians.  There  was  but  a 
minute  for  good-bye  and  a  parting  glass,  for  Kalakaua 
had  none  of  Ori's  scruples  over  champagne.  The  king 
returned  to  shore  and  stood  there  waving  his  hand, 
while  from  the  musicians,  lined  up  on  the  very  edge  of 
the  wharf,  came  the  tender  strains  of  a  farewell. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SOUTH  SEA   CRUISES— THE   CENTRAL   PACIFIC, 
JUNE,    1889— APRIL,   1891 

"I  will  never  leave  the  sea,  I  think;  it  is  only  there  that  a  Briton 
lives:  my  poor  grandfather,  it  is  from  him  that  I  inherit  the  taste,  I 
fancy,  and  he  was  round  many  islands  in  his  day;  but  I,  please  God, 
shall  beat  him  at  that  before  the  recall  is  sounded.  .  .  .  Life  is  far 
better  fun  than  people  dream  who  fall  asleep  among  the  chimney- 
stacks  and  telegraph  wires." — Letters,  ii.  162. 

THE  object  of  the  new  cruise  for  Stevenson  was  to 
visit  a  native  race  of  a  different  character  from  those  he 
had  already  seen,  living  as  far  as  was  sti'l  possible 
under  purely  natural  conditions.  The  Gilberts  are  a 
group  of  some  sixteen  low  islands  of  no  great  size, 
densely  populated,  situated  close  to  the  Equator.  At 
this  time  they  were  independent,  nearly  every  island 
being  governed  by  its  own  king  or  council  of  elders. 
Scenery  in  all  of  them  is  reduced  to  the  simplest  ele- 
ments, a  strand  with  cocoanut-palms  and  pandanus, 
and  the  sea— one  island  differing  from  another  only  in 
having  or  not  having  an  accessible  lagoon  in  its  centre; 
in  none  of  them  is  the  highest  point  of  land  as  much  as 
twenty  feet  above  sea-level.  This  very  flatness  and 
absence  of  striking  features  render  the  islands  a  more 
perfect  theatre  for  effects  of  light  and  cloud,  while  the 
splendours  of  the  sea  are  further  enhanced  by  the  con- 
trast of  the  rollers  breaking  on  the  reef  and  the  still 
lagoon  sleeping  within  the  barrier,  of  the  dark  depths 
of  ocean  outside  and  the  brilliant  shoal-water  varying 

89 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

infinitely  in  hue  with  the  inequalities  of  the  shallows 
within. 

Stevenson's  former  experience  lay,  his  future  was 
almost  entirely  to  lie,  among  the  Polynesians— the  tall, 
fine,  copper-coloured  race,  speaking  closely  allied  dia- 
lects of  the  same  language,  and  including  among  their 
family  the  Hawaiians,  Marquesans,  Tahitians,  Samoans, 
and  the  Maoris  of  New  Zealand.  The  Gilbert  and  Mar- 
shall natives,  on  the  other  hand,  are  Micronesians— 
darker,  shorter,  and  to  my  taste  less  comely  folk- 
speaking  languages  widely  removed  from  the  Poly- 
nesian—people with  a  dash  of  black  blood,  stricter  in 
morals  and  more  ferocious,  with  an  energy  and  back- 
bone which  the  others  but  rarely  possess.  It  is  note- 
worthy that  Polynesians  never  commit  suicide;  on  the 
Linejt  is  not  uncommon;  and  the  frequent  causes  are 
unrequited  love,  or  grief  for  the  dead. 

When  this  visit  should  be  finished,  the  travellers  were 
not  finally  committed  to  any  plan,  but  their  latest  in- 
tention was  to  proceed  to  the  Marshalls  and  thence  to 
the  Carolines,  and  so  "  return  to  the  light  of  day  by 
way  of  Manila  and  the  China  ports." 

Scarcely,  however,  were  they  at  sea  before  these 
schemes  were  modified.  One  moonlight  night,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Johnstone  Island,  the  talk  fell  upon 
the  strange  history  of  the  loss  of  the  brigantine  Wan- 
dering Minstrel,  and  from  this  germ  was  quickly  de- 
veloped the  plot  of  The  Wrecker.  The  life  of  cruising 
was  for  the  time  all  that  Stevenson  could  desire :  after 
the  depression  of  Honolulu  he  had  entirely  recovered 
his  health  and  spirits  on  the  open  sea,  and  the  only 
difficulty  in  continuing  his  cure  was  its  great  expense. 

90 


SOUTH  SEA  CRUISES -i  889-9 1 

Surely  if  he  possessed  a  schooner  of  his  own,  he  might 
make  his  home  on  board  and  pay  the  current  charges, 
at  all  events  in  part,  by  trading.  So  The  Wrecker  was 
to  be  written  and  sent  to  a  publisher  from  Samoa,  and 
there  with  the  proceeds  they  were  to  buy  a  schooner, 
stock  the  trade-room,  and  start  upon  their  wanderings 
under  the  guidance  of  Denis  Reid,  who  threw  himself 
heart  and  soul  into  the  spirit  of  the  new  venture. 

It  was  a  wild  scheme.  Versatile  as  Stevenson  was, 
it  is  impossible  even  to  think  of  him  as  a  "  South  Sea 
merchant,"  haggling  with  natives  over  the  price  of 
copra1  and  retailing  European  goods  to  them  at  a 
necessarily  exorbitant  rate.  But  the  project,  though 
never  realised,  did  finally  determine  the  course  of  his 
life,  for  instead  of  taking  him  to  Ponape,  Guam,  and 
the  Philippines,  it  sent  him  south  to  Samoa,  there  to 
take  up  his  abode  and  live  and  die. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  first  part  of  the  voyage  was 
safely  performed,  and  the  schooner  arrived  at  the  town 
of  Butaritari  in  the  island  of  Great  Makin.  Under 
ordinary  conditions  a  white  man,  if  he  conducted  him- 
self reasonably,  might  wander  through  all  the  group  in 
perfect  safety,  but  the  arrival  of  the  Equator  fell  at  an 
unpropitious  moment.  For  the  first  and  probably  the 
only  time  in  his  wanderings,  Stevenson  was  in  real 
danger  of  violence  from  natives. 

The  two  principal  firms  trading  in  Butaritari  be- 
longed to  San  Francisco;  the  missionaries  in  the  group 
were  sent  there  by  the  Boston  Society,  and  the  influence 
of  American  ideas  was  considerable.  Nine  days  before 

i  The  dried  kernel  of  the  cocoanut,  largely  used  in  making  soap, 
candles,  oil-cake,  etc. 

9» 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Stevenson's  arrival  was  the  Fourth  of  July;  the  king  of 
Butaritari  had  observed  the  festival  with  enthusiasm, 
but  not  wisely,  nor  in  accordance  with  missionary 
views,  for  he  had  removed  the  taboo  upon  spirits  which 
ordinarily  was  imposed  for  all  his  subjects. 

Neither  sovereign  nor  courtiers  had  been  sober  since, 
and  though,  with  a  lofty  Sabbatarianism,  the  king  de- 
clined to  be  photographed  upon  a  Sunday,  it  was  not 
to  be  supposed  that  he  could  be  refused  more  drink  if 
he  offered  to  purchase  it  at  the  usual  price.  There  was 
this  further  difficulty  in  the  way  of  restoring  sobriety 
to  his  dominions,  that  even  if  one  firm  declined  to 
supply  him,  there  was  the  rival  house,  which,  having 
as  yet  sold  less  of  its  liquor,  might  be  less  anxious  for 
the  special  open  season  to  come  to  an  end.  So  the 
carnival  continued  for  ten  days  more,  and  all  the  white 
men  could  do  was  to  get  out  their  pistols  and  show  in 
public  such  skill  as  they  possessed  in  shooting  at  a 
mark. 

Twice  a  large  stone  was  hurled  at  Stevenson  as  he 
sat  in  his  verandah  at  dusk,  just  as  the  lamp  was 
brought  out  and  placed  beside  him.  He  now  entered 
into  negotiations  with  the  German  manager  of  the 
other  firm,  whom  he  found  to  take  a  far  more  serious 
view  of  the  situation  than  any  of  them,  and  whom  he 
induced  by  diplomacy  to  discontinue  to  supply  the 
natives.  The  crisis  was  now  reached:  would  the 
populace,  irritated  by  refusal,  carry  either  of  the  bars 
with  a  rush? 

Fortunately  all  passed  off  smoothly.  The  king  came 
to  his  senses,  and  the  taboo  was  re-imposed.  Quiet 
was  restored,  and  only  just  in  time,  for  a  day  or  two 

92 


SOUTH  SEA  CRUISES -i  889-91 

later  a  large  body  of  rather  turbulent  natives  arrived 
from  the  next  island  for  a  dance  competition,  quite 
ready  to  profit  by  any  political  trouble. 

The  danger  having  been  averted,  the  party  lived  at 
peace  in  the  house  of  Maka,  the  Hawaiian  missionary, 
one  of  the  most  lovable  of  men.  They  saw  the  dances, 
they  gave  exhibitions  of  their  magic  lantern,  and  as  all 
pictures  were  supposed  to  be  photographs,  and  photo- 
graphs could  only  be  taken  from  actual  scenes,  their 
slides  of  Bible  history  brought  about  a  distinct  religious 
reaction  among  the  people.  They  made  friends  with 
various  natives,  but  the  end  of  their  stay  was  by  com- 
parison tame  and  dull,  and  after  about  a  month  the 
Equator  returned  and  carried  them  away. 

The  terms  of  the  elaborate  charter  party  were  entirely 
disregarded.  The  captain  from  the  beginning  acted  as 
though  the  vessel  were  Stevenson's  yacht,  and  went  or 
stayed  according  to  the  wishes  of  his  passenger. 
Stevenson,  on  his  part,  took  a  keen  interest  in  the 
ship's  fortunes,  and  was  as  eager  to  secure  copra  as  any 
one  on  board.  The  captain  acted  as  showman  of  the 
group.  "  I  remember  once,"  says  Mr.  Osbourne,  "  that 
he  banged  the  deck  with  a  marlinspike  and  called  below 
to  Louis:  'Come  on  deck,  quick,  Kaupoi;  here  's  the 
murderer  and  the  poisoner  I  told  you  of,  coming  off  in 
a  boat.' "  It  was  Stevenson's  fate  in  the  Pacific,  at  the 
times  when  he  was  most  anxious  about  his  finances, 
to  be  regarded  by  the  natives  as  the  wealthiest  of 
men,  and  addressed  accordingly.  Thus  "  Kaupoi "  in 
the  Gilberts  and  "Ona"  in  Samoa  are  equivalent  to 
"Dives,"  or  "Richie,"  as  Stevenson  himself  used  to 
render  it.  "Ona, "by  the  way,  is  not  a  genuine 

93 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Samoan  word,  but "  owner,"  the  wealthy  and  powerful 
person  whom  even  ship-captains  obey. 

They  visited  the  island  of  Nonuti,  and  were  then 
continuing  on  a  southward  course,  when  the  wind 
veered  and  they  made  for  Apemama,  a  large  island 
ruled  by  the  despot  Tembinok',  who  allowed  no  white 
man  in  his  kingdom.  As  an  exceptional  favour,  how- 
ever, granted  only  after  a  long  inspection  of  the  party 
and  two  days  devoted  to  consideration,  Stevenson  and 
his  family  were  admitted  as  the  special  guests  of  the 
king.  He  cleared  a  site  for  them,  pitched  four  houses 
upon  it  for  their  accommodation,  and  tabooed  with  a 
death  penalty  their  well  and  their  enclosure  against  all 
his  subjects.  The  settlement  was  begun  to  the  dis- 
charge of  a  rifle ;  the  cook  who  was  lent  to  the  Steven- 
sons,  and  was  guilty  of  gross  misbehaviour,  received 
six  shots  from  the  king's  Winchester  over  his  head,  at 
his  feet,  and  on  either  side  of  him ;  and  though  no  life 
was  actually  taken  while  the  white  men  were  on  the 
island,  yet  the  power  of  life  and  death  in  the  king's 
hands  was  plainly  shown  to  be  no  obsolete  prerogative. 

In  Apemama  the  party  spent  a  couple  of  months  in 
daily  intercourse  with  this  very  remarkable  personage, 
with  whom  they  entered  into  close  relations  of  friend- 
ship. Of  all  the  chiefs  Stevenson  knew  in  the  Pacific, 
Ori,  the  Tahitian,  was  probably  the  one  for  whom  he 
had  most  affection;  Mataafa,  in  Samoa,  probably  he 
most  respected;  but  Tembinok'  was  unquestionably  the 
strongest  character,  and  the  man  who  interested  him 
the  most.  Who  that  has  read  the  South  Sea  chapters 
has  forgotten  his  appearance? 

''  A  beaked  profile  like  Dante's  in  the  mask,  a  mane 

94 


SOUTH  SEA   CRUISES- 1889-91 

of  long  black  hair,  the  eye  brilliant,  imperious,  and  in- 
quiring; for  certain  parts  in  the  theatre,  and  to  one 
who  could  have  used  it,  the  face  was  a  fortune.  His 
voice  matched  it  well,  being  shrill,  powerful,  and  un- 
canny, with  a  note  like  a  sea-bird's.  Where  there  are 
no  fashions,  none  to  set  them,  few  to  follow  them  if 
they  were  set,  and  none  to  criticise,  he  dresses— as  Sir 
Charles  Grandison  lived—'  to  his  own  heart.'  Now  he 
wears  a  woman's  frock,  now  a  naval  uniform,  now 
(and  more  usually)  figures  in  a  masquerade  costume  of 
his  own  design— trousers  and  a  singular  jacket  with 
shirt-tails,  the  cut  and  fit  wonderful  for  island  workman- 
ship, the  material  always  handsome,  sometimes  green 
velvet,  sometimes  cardinal-red  silk.  This  masquerade 
becomes  him  admirably.  I  see  him  now  come  pacing 
towards  me  in  the  cruel  sun,  solitary,  a  figure  out  of 
Hoffmann."1 

In  spite  of  this  grotesque  disguise,  there  was  no- 
thing ridiculous  about  the  man.  He  had  been  a  fighter 
and  a  conqueror,  "the  Napoleon"  of  his  group;  he 
was,  besides,  a  poet,  a  collector,  the  sole  trader  and 
man  of  business,  and  a  shrewd  judge  of  mankind. 
Having  admitted  the  missionaries  to  his  island,  he  had 
learned  to  read  and  write;  having  found  the  mission- 
aries interfering,  as  he  thought,  with  his  trade  and  his 
government,  without  hesitation  he  had  banished  them 
from  his  domains. 

For  the  account  of  this  unique  society,  this  master- 
ful sway,  I  must  refer  the  reader  to  the  seventy  pages  of 
Stevenson's  own  description,  which  were  the  part  of 
his  diary  least  disappointing  to  himself.  It  could  hardly 

i  In  tbt  South  Seas,  p.  310. 
95 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

be  told  in  fewer  words,  and  extracts  can  do  it  no  jus- 
tice. It  is  the  more  valuable  in  that  it  represents  a  state 
of  things  which  is  gone  for  ever.  Only  four  years 
later,  when  I  visited  the  island,  all  was  changed. 
Tembinok'  was  dead,  the  Gilbert  Islands  had  been 
annexed  by  Great  Britain,  and  a  boy  was  king  under 
the  direction  of  a  British  Resident.  How  severe  the 
old  discipline  had  been  was  proclaimed  by  a  large 
"  speak-house "  at  Tuagana,  some  two  hours'  sail 
down  the  coast,  where  all  round  the  interior  of  the 
house,  at  the  end  of  the  roof-beams,  there  had  been  a 
set  of  eight-and-forty  human  skulls,  of  which  nearly 
twenty  were  still  remaining.  The  house  had  been 
built  by  Tembinok"s  father,  and  the  heads  were  those 
of  malefactors,  both  white  and  native,  or,  at  all  events, 
of  people  who  had  caused  displeasure  to  the  king.  The 
Stevensons  had  never  heard  of  the  existence  of  this 
place  from  Tembinok',  though  his  father's  grave  was 
here,  and  here  also  were  lying  the  two  finest  sea-going 
canoes  in  all  the  island. 

But  for  the  history  of  Tembinok',  and  for  Steven- 
son's experience— how  he  was  mesmerised  for  a  cold 
by  a  native  wizard,  and  how,  with  many  searchings  of 
conscience,  he  bought  for  Mr.  Andrew  Lang  the  devil- 
box  of  Apemama,  the  reader  must  go— and  will  thank 
me  for  sending  him— to  Stevenson's  own  pages.  I 
will  quote  here  only  the  king's  leave-taking  of  his 
guest,  and  the  impression  which  Stevenson  had  pro- 
duced upon  this  wild,  stern,  and  original  nature:  — 

"  As  the  time  approached  for  our  departure  Tembinok' 
became  greatly  changed ;  a  softer,  more  melancholy, 
and,  in  particular,  a  more  confidential  man  appeared  in 
his  stead.  To  my  wife  he  contrived  laboriously  to  ex- 

96 


SOUTH   SEA  CRUISES -i 889-91 

plain  that  though  he  knew  he  must  lose  his  father  in 
the  course  of  nature,  he  had  not  minded  nor  realised  it 
till  the  moment  came ;  and  that  now  he  was  to  lose  us, 
he  repeated  the  experience.  We  showed  fireworks 
one  evening  on  the  terrace.  It  was  a  heavy  business; 
the  sense  of  separation  was  in  all  our  minds,  and  the 
talk  languished.  The  king  was  specially  affected,  sat 
disconsolate  on  his  mat,  and  often  sighed.  Of  a  sud- 
den one  of  the  wives  stepped  forth  from  a  cluster, 
came  and  kissed  him  in  silence,  and  silently  went 
again.  It  was  just  such  a  caress  as  we  might  give  to  a 
disconsolate  child,  and  the  king  received  it  with  a  child's 
simplicity.  Presently  after  we  said  good-night  and 
withdrew;  but  Tembinok'  detained  Mr.  Osbourne, 
patting  the  mat  by  his  side  and  saying:  '  Sit  down.  I 
feel  bad,  I  like  talk.'  '  You  like  some  beer?  '  said  he; 
and  one  of  the  wives  produced  a  bottle.  The  king  did 
not  partake,  but  sat  sighing  and  smoking  a  meer- 
schaum pipe.  'I  very  sorry  you  go,'  he  said  at  last. 
'  Miss  Stlevens  he  good  man,  woman  he  good  man, 
boy  he  good  man;  all  good  man.  Woman  he  smart 
all  the  same  man.  My  woman,'  glancing  towards  his 
wives,  '  he  good  woman,  no  very  smart.  I  think  Miss 
Stlevens  he  big  chiep  all  the  same  cap'n  man-o'-wa'.  I 
think  Miss  Stlevens  he  rich  man  all  the  same  me.  All 
go  schoona.  I  very  sorry.  My  patha  he  go,  my  uncle 
he  go,  my  cutcheons  he  go,  Miss  Stlevens  he  go:  all 
go.  You  no  see  king  cry  before.  King  all  the  same 
man:  feel  bad,  he  cry.  I  very  sorry.' 

"  In  the  morning  it  was  the  common  topic  in  the  vil- 
lage that  the  king  had  wept.     To  me  he  said :  '  Last 
night  I  no  can  'peak:  too  much  here,'  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  bosom.     '  Now  you  go  away  all  the  same  my 
n  97 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

pamily.  My  brothers,  my  uncle  go  away.  All  the 
same.'  This  was  said  with  a  dejection  almost  pas- 
sionate. .  .  .  The  same  day  he  sent  me  a  present  of 
two  corselets,  made  in  the  island  fashion  of  plaited 
fibre,  heavy  and  strong.  One  had  been  worn  by  his 
grandfather,  one  by  his  father,  and,  the  gift  being 
gratefully  received,  he  sent  me,  on  the  return  of  his 
messengers,  a  third— that  of  his  uncle.  .  .  . 

"  The  king  took  us  on  board  in  his  own  gig,  dressed 
for  the  occasion  in  the  naval  uniform.  He  had  little  to 
say,  he  refused  refreshments,  shook  us  briefly  by  the 
hand,  and  went  ashore  again.  That  night  the  palm- 
tops of  Apemama  had  dipped  behind  the  sea,  and  the 
schooner  sailed  solitary  under  the  stars." l 

The  remainder  of  Stevenson's  notes  on  the  Gilberts 
relate  chiefly  to  the  white,  or,  at  any  rate,  the  alien 
population  of  the  group,  which  at  that  date  was  nat- 
urally a  sort  of  No  Man's  Land— one  of  the  last  refuges 
for  the  scoundrels  of  the  Pacific.  Not  that  all  the 
traders  by  any  means  were  black  sheep;  some  of  them 
and  some  of  the  captains  and  mates  working  in  those 
waters  were  decent  fellows  enough,  but  among  them 
were  thieves,  murderers,  and  worse,  patriots  who 
showed  an  uncommon  alacrity  in  changing  their  na- 
tionality when  any  man-of-war  of  their  own  govern- 
ment happened  to  come  their  way.  When  the  Gilberts 
were  finally  annexed  in  1892,  a  labour  vessel  took  a 
shipload  of  these  gentry  on  board,  bound  for  a  South 
American  republic,  which,  fortunately  for  that  State, 
they  never  reached— the  vessel  being  lost  at  sea  with 
all  hands. 

1  In  the  South  Seas,  p.  378. 
98 


SOUTH   SEA  CRUISES- 1889-91 

Of  the  stories  that  were  then  current  Stevenson  col- 
lected a  number,  and  had  he  been  a  realist,  his  readers 
might  have  been  depressed  through  many  volumes  by 
the  gloom  and  squalor  of  these  tragedies;  as  it  was,  he 
utilised  only  a  little  of  what  he  had  actually  seen  as 
material  for  the  darker  shadows  in  the  romantic  and 
spirited  Beach  of  Falesd. 

After  returning  to  Butaritari,  the  Equator,  with 
Stevenson  and  his  party  on  board,  left  for  Samoa.  The 
trip  was  tedious  but  for  the  excitement  of  running  by 
night  between  the  three  different  positions  assigned  by 
the  charts  to  a  reef  which  possibly  had  no  real  exis- 
tence. There  were  the  usual  squalls,  in  one  of  which, 
during  the  night,  the  safety  of  the  ship  depended 
entirely  on  the  cutting  of  a  rope.  The  foretopmast 
snapped  across  and  the  foresail  downhaul  fouled  in  the 
wreckage,  but  Ah  Fu  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  galley 
with  his  knife,  and  the  position  was  saved.  Next 
morning,  however,  the  signal  halyard  had  disappeared, 
nor  was  its  loss  accounted  for  until  several  weeks  after- 
wards, when  the  Chinaman  presented  his  mistress  with 
a  neat  coil  of  the  best  quality  of  rope.  He  had  once 
heard  her  admiring  it,  and  took  occasion  of  the  squall 
and  extremity  of  danger  to  procure  it  for  her  as  a 
present. 

The  schooner  arrived  about  the  yth  of  December  at 
Apia,  the  capital  and  port  of  Upolu,  the  chief  of  the 
group  known  collectively  as  Samoa1  or  the  Navigator 

1  The  first  two  syllafftes  are  long:  Sa-moa;  similarly  Vai-lima;  but 
Fale-sa.  The  first  A  in  A-pia  is  shorter,  but  the  vowel-sounds  through- 
out are  as  in  Italian.  The  consonants  are  as  in  English,  but  g  =  ng. 
Thus  Pagopago  is  pronounced  Pangopango. 

99 


LIFE   OF   ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Islands,  which  Stevenson  now  saw  for  the  first  time, 
and  which  he  had  every  intention  of  leaving  finally 
within  two  months  of  his  arrival. 

The  Equator's  charter  now  came  to  an  end.  Hiring 
a  cottage  in  the  hamlet  a  mile  above  the  town,  Steven- 
son began  to  collect  the  material  necessary  for  those 
chapters  which  should  be  allotted  to  Samoa  in  his  book 
upon  the  South  Seas.  This  obtained,  he  proposed  to 
start  at  once  for  Sydney,  and  thence  proceed  to  England. 

The  Samoan  record,  as  he  anticipated  from  the  outset, 
would  deal  chiefly  with  the  history  of  the  recent  war, 
and  for  this  he  engaged  in  a  most  painstaking  and— so 
far  as  I  can  judge— most  successful  judicial  investi- 
gation into  the  actual  facts  and  the  course  of  events 
within  the  last  few  years.  It  is  difficult  for  any  one 
who  has  not  lived  hard  by  a  South  Sea  "  Beach  "  to 
realise  how  contradictory  and  how  elusive  are  its 
rumours,  and  how  widely  removed  from  anything  of 
the  nature  of  "  evidence."  But  into  this  confused  mass 
Stevenson  plunged,  making  inquiries  of  every  one  to 
whose  statements  he  could  attach  any  importance, 
American  or  English  or  German  (my  order  is  alpha- 
betical), and  invoking  the  aid  of  interpreters  for  native 
sources  of  information.  He  weighed  and  sifted  his 
information  with  the  greatest  care,  and  I  have  never 
heard  any  of  the  main  results  contested  which  were 
embodied  in  A  Foot-note  to  History. 

For  the  sake  of  this  work  he  lived  chiefly  in  Apia,1  at 
the  house  of  an  American  trader,  Mr.  H.  J.  Moors.  He 

1  For  convenience  I  have  spoken  throughout  of  the  whole  town  as 
Apia,  though  the  name  is  in  strict  usage  limited  to  one  of  its  four 
districts. 

too 


SOUTH  SEA  CRUISES -1889-91 

made  the  acquaintance  of  Colonel  de  Co§tlogon,  the  Eng- 
lish consul,  with  whom  he  maintained  the  most  friendly 
terms,  who  had  been  with  Gordon  in  Khartoum;  of  Dr. 
Stuebel,  the  German  Consul-General,  perhaps  the  ablest 
and  most  enlightened,  and  certainly  not  the  least  honour- 
able diplomatist  that  the  Great  Powers  ever  sent  to  the 
South  Seas ;  of  the  Rev.  W.  E.  Clarke  and  other  members 
of  the  London  Mission,  his  warm  friends  then  and  in 
later  days ;  and  especially  of  the  high  chief  Mataafa,  who 
impressed  him  at  once  as  the  finest  of  the  Samoans. 

It  was  the  only  time  Stevenson  ever  lived  in  Apia  or 
its  immediate  suburbs,  and  a  few  words  in  passing 
should  be  devoted  to  the  Beach  with  which  now,  more 
than  at  any  time,  he  was  brought  into  contact.  This 
term,  common  to  other  South  Sea  islands,  comprises, 
as  I  understand,  every  white  resident  in  a  place  who 
has  not  some  position  that  can  be  definitely  described: 
in  the  last  instance  it  denotes  the  mere  beach-combers, 
loafers  or  mean  whites,  although  most  people  would 
include  in  it  all  persons  of  markedly  less  consideration 
than  themselves.  There  was  much  kindliness  and 
generosity  even  among  the  lowest,  and  not  more  want 
of  energy  or  of  scruple  than  might  have  been  expected. 
There  was  also  a  genial  readiness  to  believe  rumours, 
balanced  by  a  willingness  to  think  no  worse  of  the 
persons  against  whom  they  were  told.  It  might  have 
been  described  as  a  society  for  investigation  but  not  for 
promulgation  of  the  truth.  The  number  of  white  or 
half-caste  residents  in  Apia  was  supposed  to  be  about 
three  hundred,  of  whom  about  two-thirds  were  British 
subjects,  the  bulk  of  the  remainder  being  Germans. 

At  first  Stevenson  was  not  greatly  struck  either  by 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

the  place  or  by  the  natives ;  the  island  was  "  far  less 
beautiful  than  the  Marquesas  or  Tahiti;  a  more  gentle 
scene,  gentler  acclivities,  a  tamer  face  of  nature;  and 
this  much  aided,  for  the  wanderer,  by  the  great  Ger- 
man plantations,  with  their  countless  regular  avenues 
of  palms."  Nor  was  he  "specially  attracted  by  the 
people;  but  they  are  courteous;  the  women  very  attrac- 
tive, and  dress  lovely;  the  men  purposelike,  well  set 
up,  tall,  lean,  and  dignified." 

In  the  end  of  December  he  made  a  boat  expedition 
with  Mr.  Clarke  some  dozen  miles  to  the  east,  partly 
on  mission  business,  and  partly  on  his  own  account 
to  visit  Tamasese,  the  chief  whom  the  Germans  had 
formerly  set  up  as  king;  not  long  afterwards  he  made 
a  similar  journey  to  the  west  to  Malua,  where  the 
London  Mission  have  long  had  a  training  college  for 
native  students.  It  was  on  this  latter  occasion  that  he 
was  first  introduced  to  the  natives  by  the  Rev.  J.  E. 
Newell  as  "  Tusitala,"  "  The  Writer  of  Tales"  the 
name  by  which  he  was  afterwards  most  usually  known 
in  Samoa.  Here  he  gave  an  address  which  was  trans- 
lated for  their  benefit; J  and  a  few  days  later  he  deliv- 
ered a  lecture  in  Apia  upon  his  travels,  on  behalf  of  a 
native  church,  Dr.  Stuebel  taking  the  chair. 

From  his  notes  made  on  the  first  expedition  I  draw 
one  or  two  passages,  descriptive  of  Samoan  customs 
and  of  Samoan  scenery,  which  is  nowhere  more  beau- 
tiful than  in  the  inlet  he  then  visited. 

"  Dec.  31,  '89. 

"At  the  mission  station,  the  most  enchanting  scene: 
troops  of  children  and  young  girls  in  that  enchanting 

1  Appendix  A. 
.oa 


SOUTH  SEA   CRUISES -i  889-91 

diversity  of  bright  attire  which  makes  a  joy  to  the  eye 
of  any  Samoan  festival ;  some  in  tapa l  crinolined  out, 
some  in  gaudy  tabards,  some  in  the  sleeveless  bodice 
of  black  velvet;  one  little  girlie  in  a  Mi  of  russet  leaves, 
herself  crowned  with  the  red  flower  of  royalty,  for  all 
the  world  like  a  pantomime  fairy,  only  her  lendings 
were  not  of  tinsel,  but  still  glittered  with  the  raindrops 
of  the  morning.  They  came  in  a  certain  order,  one 
standing  by  to  let  another  pass,  these  singing  as  they 
came,  those  as  they  waited.  The  strains  were  almost 
as  pleasant  to  the  ear  as  the  colours  and  the  bright 
young  faces  to  the  eye;  the  words  were  now  conven- 
tional and  applicable  to  any  malaga,  now  composed 
or  prepared  against  the  present  occasion.  Each  little 
gaudy  band  of  choristers  approached  the  open  apse  of 
the  mission-house,  where  we  sat  installed,  walking  in 
loose  array,  their  gifts  of  taro,  or  sugar-cane,  shouldered 
gallantly  like  muskets,  one  girl  in  special  finery  leading 
with  a  chicken  in  her  arms,  and  every  foot  in  time; 
they  paused  some  paces  off,  ending  their  compliment 
with  more  boisterous  enunciation,  rose  to  a  last  high 
note,  and  suddenly  with  a  medley  of  shrill  shouts 
hurled  all  their  offerings  one  upon  another  in  front  of 
us,  broke  up  their  ranks  with  laughter,  and  dispersed. 
One  of  our  boat's  crew  gathered  up  the  offerings,  and 
a  high  voice  like  a  herald's  proclaimed  the  name  of  the 
village  and  the  number  and  nature  of  the  gifts.  And 
before  he  had  well  spoken  a  fresh  troop  was  drawing 
near,  with  a  new  song.  .  .  . 

1  Tapa,  native  cloth  made  of  mulberry  bark;  /i/i,  something  be- 
tween a  girdle  and  a  skirt;  malaga,  excursion,  visiting  party;  taro, 
the  edible  root  of  the  Arum  esculentum. 

103 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

"  Fagaloa,  Dec.  }ist. 

"Past  Falefa,  where  the  reef  ends  and  the  coaster 
enters  on  the  open  sea,  all  prettinesses,  as  if  they  were 
things  of  shelter,  end.  The  hills  are  higher  and  more 
imminent,  and  here  and  there  display  naked  crags. 
The  surf  beats  on  bluff  rocks,  still  overhung  with 
forest;  the  boat,  still  navigated  foolishly  near  the  broken 
water,  is  twisted  to  and  fro  with  a  drunken  motion,  in 
the  backwash  and  broken  water  of  the  surf;  and 
though  to-day  it  is  exceptionally  smooth,  another  boat 
that  crosses  us  appears  only  at  intervals  and  for  a 
moment  on  the  blue  crest  of  the  swells.  At  last, 
rounding  a  long  spit  of  rocks  on  which  the  sea  runs 
wildly  high,  the  bay,  gulf,  or  rather  (as  the  one  true 
descriptive  word)  the  loch  of  Fagaloa  opens.  The 
oarsmen  rest  awhile  upon  their  oars.  '  Thank  you  for 
your  rowing,'  says  Mr.  Clarke— the  conventional  al- 
locution :  the  conventional  answer  comes,  '  Thank  you 
for  your  prayers ' ;  and  then,  with  a  new  song  struck 
up,  which  sings  the  praise  and  narrates  with  some 
detail  the  career  of  Mr.  Clarke  himself,  we  begin  to 
enter  the  enchanted  bay;  high  clouds  hover  upon  the 
hill-tops;  thin  cataracts  whiten  lower  down  along  the 
front  of  the  hills;  all  the  rest  is  precipitous  forest,  dark 
with  the  intensity  of  green,  save  where  the  palms  shine 
silver  in  the  thicket;  it  is  indeed  a  place  to  enter  with  a 
song  upon  our  lips. 

"...  Fagaloa  is  the  original  spot  where  every  pros- 
pect pleases.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  a  vast  black  rain- 
squall  engulf  the  bottom  of  the  bay,  pass  over  with 
glittering  skirts,  climb  the  opposite  hill,  and  cling  there 
and  dwindle  into  rags  of  snowy  cloud;  beautiful  too 

104 


SOUTH  SEA  CRUISES -1889-91 

was  a  scene  where  a  little  burn  ran  into  the  sea  be- 
tween groups  of  cocos  and  below  a  rustic  bridge  of 
palm-stems;  something  indescribably  Japanese  in  the 
scene  suggested  the  idea  of  setting  on  the  bridge  three 
gorgeously  habited  young  girls,  and  these  relieved  in 
their  bright  raiment  against  the  blue  of  the  sky  and  the 
low  sea-line  completed  the  suggestion;  it  was  a  crape 
picture  in  the  fact.  We  went  on  further  to  the  end  of 
the  bay,  where  the  village  sits  almost  sprayed  upon  by 
waterfalls  among  its  palm-grove,  and  round  under  the 
rocky  promontory,  by  a  broken  path  of  rock  among  the 
bowers  of  foliage;  a  troop  of  little  lads  accompanied 
our  progress,  and  two  of  them  possessed  themselves  of 
my  hands  and  trotted  alongside  of  me  with  endless, 
incomprehensible  conversation;  both  tried  continually 
to  pull  the  rings  off  my  fingers;  one  carried  my  shoes 
and  stockings,  and  proudly  reminded  me  of  the  fact  at 
every  stoppage.  They  were  unpleasant,  cheeky,  ugly 
urchins;  and  the  shoe-bearer,  when  we  turned  the 
corner  and  sat  down  in  the  shade  and  the  sea-breeze 
on  black  ledges  of  volcanic  rock,  splashed  by  the  sea, 
nestled  up  to  my  side,  and  sat  pawing  me  like  an  old 
acquaintance.  .  .  . 

"Jan.  ist,  1890.— On  our  way  back  along  the  most 
precipitous  and  seemingly  desert  portion  of  the  coast, 
we  were  startled  by  a  sudden  noise  rising  above  the 
continuous  sound  of  the  breaching  surf  which  hangs 
along  the  shore  incessant  and  invariable  in  pitch.  At 
first  we  supposed  it  to  be  the  sound  of  some  greater 
wave  exploding  through  a  blow-hole  of  the  rocks;  but 
presently  the  sound  was  repeated,  our  eye  was  caught 
by  a  growing  column  of  blue  smoke  arising  in  the 

105 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

shore-side  forest,  and  we  were  aware  that  in  that  bay, 
where  not  a  roof  appeared  to  break  the  continuous 
foliage,  a  not  inconsiderable  village  must  sit  secret, 
whose  inhabitants  were  now  saluting  the  New  Year 
with  a  field-piece,  some  relic  of  the  war." 

But  Stevenson  was  now  to  take  a  step  that  proved 
more  decisive  than  for  the  moment  he  imagined.  The 
winter  home  he  had  once  projected  at  Madeira  was  to 
be  transferred  to  Samoa;  he  purchased  some  four  hun- 
dred acres  in  the  bush,  two  miles  behind  and  six  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  level  of  the  town  of  Apia.  The 
ground  was  covered,  not  exactly  with  virgin  forest,  for 
it  had  formerly  been  occupied  (according  to  tradition) 
by  a  Samoan  bush  town,  but  with  vegetation  so  dense 
that  on  her  first  visit  his  wife  had  been  quite  unable  to 
penetrate  to  the  spot  where  the  house  afterwards  stood. 
The  land,  however,  was  to  be  cleared,  and  a  cottage 
erected,  which  would  at  any  rate  shelter  the  family 
during  such  intervals  between  their  cruises  as  it  should 
suit  them  to  spend  in  Samoa.  But  the  real  reason  for 
the  selection  of  this  island  for  a  settlement  lay  princi- 
pally in  the  facilities  of  communication.  An  author, 
and  especially  a  writer  of  novels,  can  dispense  with 
many  of  the  blessings  of  civilisation;  the  one  thing  ab- 
solutely indispensable  is  a  regular  and  trustworthy 
mode  of  communicating  with  his  printer  and  his  pub- 
lisher. Now  in  the  matter  of  mails  Samoa  was  ex- 
ceptionally fortunate.  The  monthly  steamers  between 
Sydney  and  San  Francisco  received  and  deposited  their 
mail-bags  in  passing,  and  very  soon  after  began  to  call 
at  the  port  of  Apia.  A  German  steamer,  the  Ltibeck, 
ran  regularly  between  Apia  and  Sydney,  and  the  New 

106 


SOUTH   SEA   CRUISES- 1889-91 

Zealand  boat,  the  Richmond,  called  on  her  circular  trip 
from  Auckland  to  Tahiti.  Of  all  the  other  islands 
which  Stevenson  had  visited,  Tahiti  itself  was  the  only 
possible  rival,  but  its  mail  service  was  much  less  fre- 
quent and  less  trustworthy;  and,  moreover,  Stevenson 
was  not  anxious  to  place  himself  under  the  control  of  a 
French  colonial  government. 

So  the  ground  was  bought,  the  money  paid,  and 
orders  were  left  to  begin  the  necessary  operations. 
Early  in  February  the  party  sailed  for  Sydney,  where 
Mrs.  Strong  was  now  waiting  to  see  them  on  their  way 
home  to  England  for  the  summer. 

Soon  after  reaching  Australia,  Stevenson  found  in  a 
religious  paper  a  letter  from  Dr.  Hyde,  a  Presbyterian 
minister  in  Honolulu,  depreciating  the  labours  of  Father 
Damien  at  Molokai,  and  reviving  against  his  memory 
some  highly  unchristian  and  unworthy  slanders.  The 
letter  was  written  in  a  spirit  peculiarly  calculated  to 
rouse  Stevenson's  indignation,  and  when  he  heard  at 
the  same  time  a  report,  which  may  or  may  not  have 
been  true,  but  which  he,  at  any  rate,  fully  believed,  to 
the  effect  that  a  proposed  memorial  to  Damien  in  Lon- 
don had  been  abandoned  on  account  of  this  or  some 
similar  statement,  his  anger  knew  no  bounds.  He  sat 
down  and  wrote  the  celebrated  letter  to  Dr.  Hyde, 
which  was  forthwith  published  in  pamphlet  form  in 
Sydney,  and  subsequently  in  Edinburgh  in  the  Scots 
Observer.  He  had  the  courage  of  his  opinions,  and 
realised  the  risks  he  was  taking:  "  I  knew  I  was  writ- 
ing a  libel:  I  thought  he  would  bring  an  action;  I  made 
sure  I  should  be  ruined;  I  asked  leave  of  my  gallant 
family,  and  the  sense  that  I  was  signing  away  all  I 

107 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

possessed  kept  me  up  to  high-water  mark,  and  made 
me  feel  every  insult  heroic." 

But  in  place  of  the  news  for  which  his  friends  were 
waiting,  that  he  had  started  upon  his  homeward  voy- 
age, there  came  a  telegram  to  Mr.  Baxter  on  the  loth 
April:  "Return  Islands  four  months.  Home  Septem- 
ber." 

He  had  taken  cold  in  Sydney,  and  after  the  lapse  of 
eighteen  months  having  again  started  a  hemorrhage, 
was  very  ill  and  pining  for  the  sea.  Mrs.  Stevenson 
heard  of  a  trading  steamer  about  to  start  for  "  the 
Islands,"  applied  for  three  passages  and  was  refused, 
went  to  the  owners  and  was  again  refused,  but  stating 
inflexibly  that  it  was  a  matter  of  life  or  death  to  her 
husband,  she  carried  her  point  and  extorted  their  un- 
willing consent. 

This  vessel  was  the  steamship  Janet  Nicoll,  an  iron 
screw-steamer  of  about  six  hundred  tons,  chartered 
by  Messrs.  Henderson  &  Macfarlane,  a  well-known 
South  Sea  firm.  There  was  a  dock  strike  in  Sydney  at 
the  time,  but  with  a  "  black-boy  "  crew  on  board,  the 
Janet  got  away,  carrying  a  full  complement  of  officers 
and  engineers,  and  the  trio  to  whom  Island  Nights' 
Entertainments  was  afterwards  dedicated— Mr.  Hen- 
derson, one  of  the  partners;  Ben  Hird,1  the  supercargo; 
and  "Jack"  Buckland,  the  living  original  of  Tommy 
Haddon  in  The  Wrecker. 

Unwelcome  guests  though  they  had  been,  no  sooner 
had  they  started  than  they  met  with  the  greatest  kind- 

1  In  a  brief  sketch  in  Macmillan's  Magazine  for  November,  1896,  I 
endeavoured  to  do  justice  to  the  memory  of  some  of  Hird's  many 
admirable  qualities. 

108 


SOUTH   SEA  CRUISES- 1889-91 

ness  and  cordiality  from  every  one  on  board,  and  when 
they  reached  Auckland  the  invalid  was  himself  again. 
They  left  that  port  under  sealed  orders,  but  were  not 
yet  clear  of  the  lighthouse  before  some  fireworks,  left 
in  Buckland's  berth,  set  his  cabin  on  fire.  The  saloon 
was  filled  with  dense  smoke  and  a  rosy  glow  "  Let 
no  man  say  I  am  unscientific,"  wrote  Stevenson. 
"  When  I  ran,  on  the  alert,  out  of  my  stateroom,  and 
found  the  main  cabin  incarnadined  with  the  glow  of 
the  last  scene  of  a  pantomime,  I  stopped  dead.  '  What 
is  this  ?  '  said  I.  '  This  ship  is  on  fire,  I  see  that;  but 
why  a  pantomime  ? '  And  I  stood  and  reasoned  the 
point,  until  my  head  was  so  muddled  with  the  fumes 
that  I  could  not  find  the  companion.  By  singular  good 
fortune,  we  got  the  hose  down  in  time  and  saved  the 
ship,  but  Lloyd  lost  most  of  his  clothes,  and  a  great 
part  of  our  photographs  was  destroyed.  Fanny  saw 
the  native  sailors  tossing  overboard  a  blazing  trunk; 
she  stopped  them  in  time,  and  behold,  it  contained  my 
manuscripts."1 

After  this  episode  all  went  well;  the  course  of  the 
steamer  may  be  traced  on  the  accompanying  map.  She 
put  in  to  Apia,  and  stayed  there  long  enough  to  enable 
the  party  to  visit  their  new  property  and  see  what 
progress  had  been  made.  After  that  she  went  to  the 
east  and  to  the  north,  calling  at  three-and-thirty  low 
islands;  their  stay  in  almost  every  case  was  limited  to 
a  few  hours,  and,  as  Stevenson  wrote  on  this  cruise, 
"hackney  cabs  have  more  variety  than  atolls."  They 
saw  their  friend  King  Tembinok'  again,  and  received  a 
welcome  from  him  almost  too  pathetic  to  be  hearty. 

i  Letters,  ii.  185. 
109 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

He  had  been  ill,  and  the  whole  island  had  been 
attacked  by  measles,  a  disaster  which  was  apparently 
attributed  by  the  victims  to  the  sale  of  their  "  devil-box. " 
In  the  centre  of  the  big  house  was  a  circular  piece  of 
"  devil-work  "  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  of  white  shells, 
and  the  worship  of  "Chench,"  the  local  deity,  had 
obviously  received  an  impetus  from  recent  events. 

The  circumstances  of  this  expedition  were,  of  course, 
very  different  from  their  former  leisurely  and  more  local 
voyages  in  schooners.  Stevenson  greatly  enjoyed  the 
company  on  board,  for  two  at  least  of  his  fellow-voy- 
agers were  probably  unrivalled  by  any  white  man  in 
their  experience  of  these  regions,  and  were  possessed 
besides  of  remarkable  ability  and  character. 

The  altered  conditions  of  navigation  were  a  great 
interest  to  him,  and  he  was  never  weary  of  admiring 
the  captain's  skill  in  handling  the  steamer,  one  speci- 
men of  which  he  has  recorded  in  the  account  of  his 
first  visit  to  a  pearl-shell  island,  such  as,  to  his  great 
disappointment,  he  had  failed  to  visit  from  Fakarava. 

"  Nearly  two  years  had  passed  before  I  found  myself 
in  the  trading  steamer  Janet  Nicoll,  heading  for  the 
entrance  of  Penrhyn  or  Tongarewa.  In  front,  the  line 
of  the  atoll  showed  like  a  narrow  sea-wall  of  bare  coral, 
where  the  surges  broke;  on  either  hand  the  tree-tops  of 
an  islet  showed  some  way  off:  on  one,  the  site  of  the 
chief  village;  the  other,  then  empty,  but  now  inhabited, 
and  known  by  the  ill-omened  name  of  Molokai.  We 
steamed  through  the  pass  and  were  instantly  involved 
amidst  a  multiplicity  of  coral  lumps,  or  horses'  heads, 
as  they  are  called  by  sailors.  Through  these  our  way 
meandered;  we  would  have  a  horse's  head  athwart  the 


SOUTH  SEA  CRUISES- 1889-91 

bows,  one  astern,  one  upon  either  board ;  and  the  tor- 
tuous fairway  was  at  times  not  more  than  twice  the 
vessel's  beam.  The  Janet  was,  besides,  an  iron  ship; 
half  the  width  of  the  Pacific  severed  us  from  the  next 
yard  of  reparation ;  one  rough  contact,  and  our  voyage 
might  be  ended,  and  ourselves  consigned  to  half  a  year 
of  Penrhyn.  On  the  topgallant  forecastle  stood  a  na- 
tive pilot,  used  to  conning  smaller  ships,  and  unpre- 
pared for  the  resources  of  a  steamer;  his  cries  rang  now 
with  agony,  now  with  wrath.  The  best  man  was  at 
the  bridge  wheel;  and  Captain  Henry,  with  one  hand 
on  the  engine  signal,  one  trembling  towards  the  steers- 
man, juggled  his  long  ship  among  these  dangers,  with 
the  patient  art  of  one  fitting  up  a  watch,  with  the  swift 
decision  of  a  general  in  the  field.  1  stood  by,  thrilling 
at  once  with  the  excitement  of  a  personal  adventure 
and  the  admiration  due  to  perfect  skill. 

"  We  were  presently  at  anchor  in  a  singular  berth, 
boxed  all  about;  our  late  entrance,  our  future  exit  not 
to  be  discovered ;  in  front  the  lagoon,  where  I  counted 
the  next  day  upwards  of  thirty  horses'  heads  in  easy 
view;  behind,  the  groves  of  the  isle  and  the  crowded 
houses  of  the  village.  Many  boats  lay  there  at  moor- 
ings: in  the  verandah,  folk  were  congregated  gazing  at 
the  ship;  children  were  swimming  from  the  shore  to 
board  us ;  and  from  the  lagoon,  before  a  gallant  breeze, 
other  boats  came  skimming  homeward.  The  boats 
were  gay  with  white  sails  and  bright  paint;  the  men 
were  clad  in  red  and  blue,  they  were  garlanded  with 
green  leaves  or  gay  with  kerchiefs;  and  the  busy, 
many-coloured  scene  was  framed  in  the  verdure  of  the 
palms  and  the  opal  of  the  shallow  sea. 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

"  It  was  a  pretty  picture,  and  its  prettiest  element, 
the  coming  of  the  children.  Every  here  and  there  we 
saw  a  covey  of  black  heads  upon  the  water.  .  .  .  Soon 
they  trooped  up  the  side-ladder,  a  healthy,  comely  com- 
pany of  kilted  children;  and  had  soon  taken  post  upon 
the  after-hatch,  where  they  sat  in  a  double  row,  sing- 
ing with  solemn  energy." 

But  on  the  whole  Stevenson  did  not  benefit  greatly 
by  the  voyage.  He  now  turned  to  the  "  letters  "  upon 
his  experiences  for  the  American  syndicate ;  from  the 
first  they  failed  to  satisfy  him,  although  he  regarded 
them,  even  in  their  final  form,  as  only  the  rough  ma- 
terial for  the  book.  The  heat  of  the  steamer,  driven 
before  the  wind,  was  often  intolerable ;  he  had  another 
hemorrhage,  and  remained  languid  and  unfit  for  work. 
On  the  return  journey  the  Janet  turned  off  to  New 
Caledonia,  and  thence  went  direct  to  Sydney.  Steven- 
son, however,  landed  at  Noumea,  where  he  spent  a  few 
days  by  himself,  observing  the  French  convict  settle- 
ment, and  learning  something  of  the  methods  of  deal- 
ing with  natives.  It  was  the  only  time  he  was  ever 
among  Melanesian  tribes,  although  occasionally  he  met 
with  isolated  individuals,  especially  in  Samoa,  where 
they  are  frequently  imported  as  labourers  for  the  Ger- 
man firm. 

He  followed  his  wife  and  stepson  to  Sydney,  whence 
Mr.  Osbourne  left  for  England,  finally  to  arrange  their 
affairs,  and  bring  out  the  furniture  from  Skerryvore  for 
the  "yet  unbuilt  house  on  the  mountain." 

All  idea  of  this  journey  had  been  given  up  by  Steven- 
son himself  in  the  course  of  the  past  voyage,  and  in- 
deed, having  reached  Sydney,  he  was  confined  to  his 

112 


SOUTH  SEA  CRUISES- 1889-9 

room  in  the  Union  Club,  and  left  it  only  to  return  to 
Samoa.  From  this  time  forth,  although  he  formed 
various  projects,  never  realised,  of  seeing  his  friends, 
and  especially  Mr.  Colvin,  in  Egypt,  Honolulu,  or 
Ceylon,  he  never,  so  far  as  I  know,  again  looked  for- 
ward to  setting  foot  upon  his  native  shores. 

With  his  wife  he  left  for  Apia,  and  on  their  arrival 
they  camped  in  gipsy  fashion  in  the  four-roomed 
wooden  house  which  was  all,  except  a  trellised  arbour, 
that  had  yet  been  erected  on  the  property.  Here  for 
the  next  six  months  they  lived  alone  with  one  servant, 
until  the  ground  was  further  cleared  and  the  permanent 
house  built. 

Into  the  details  of  Stevenson's  life  at  this  time  there 
is  no  need  to  go;  it  was  a  period  of  transition,  and  it  is 
sufficiently  described  in  the  Vailima  Letters.  Most  of 
his  material  difficulties  were  crowded  into  it;  but  even 
from  them  he  derived  a  great  deal  of  enjoyment. 
There  were  daily  working  on  the  land  a  number  of 
labourers,  partly  Samoans,  partly  natives  of  other 
groups,  superintended  for  most  of  the  time  by  a  Samoan 
who  figures  largely  in  the  first  part  of  the  letters  to  Mr. 
Colvin.  After  a  while,  as  soon  as  the  lie  of  the  ground 
could  be  more  clearly  seen,  the  site  of  the  new  house 
was  selected  on  a  plateau  a  couple  of  hundred  yards 
higher  up  the  hill,  and  the  building  itself  was  begun  by 
white  carpenters. 

This  was  the  only  time  their  food-supply  ever  ran  at 
all  short;  but  after  their  experiences  in  schooners  and 
on  low  islands,  they  found  little  to  complain  of,  as  they 
felt  that  if  it  ever  came  to  the  worst,  two  miles  off 
there  was  always  an  open  restaurant.  Their  one  ser- 
H  113 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

vant  was  a  German  ex-steward,  a  feckless,  kindly 
creature,  who  seemed  born  with  two  left  hands,  but 
was  always  ready  to  do  his  best.  But  the  less  com- 
petent the  servant,  the  more  numerous  and  miscella- 
neous were  the  odd  jobs  which  devolved  upon  his 
master  and  mistress. 

Thus  in  the  meantime  Stevenson's  own  work  went 
on  under  great  disadvantages.  Much  of  his  effort  was 
expended  upon  the  South  Sea  Letters ;  but  this  was  the 
time  when  he  saw  most  of  the  virgin  forest,  and  his 
solitary  expeditions  and  the  hours  spent  in  weeding  at 
the  edge  of  the  "  bush "  were,  as  we  shall  see,  not 
without  effect  upon  his  writing. 

In  January,  1891,  he  left  his  wife  in  sole  charge  and 
went  to  Sydney  to  meet  his  mother,  who  was  to  ar- 
rive there  from  Scotland  on  her  way  to  Samoa.  The 
shaft  of  the  Lilbech  broke  when  she  was  near  Fiji,  at 
the  worst  of  seasons  and  in  the  most  dangerous  of 
waters;  but  it  was  patched  up  with  great  skill,  and, 
under  sail  and  to  the  astonishment  of  the  whole  port, 
she  arrived  at  her  destination  only  four  days  late. 
Stevenson  as  usual  "fell  sharply  sick  in  Sydney,"  but 
was  able  to  go  on  board  the  Lttbeck  again  and  convoy 
his  mother  to  her  new  home.  The  house,  after  all, 
was  not  ready  to  receive  her,  and,  having  taken  her 
first  brief  glimpse  of  Samoa,  she  returned  to  the  Colo- 
nies for  another  couple  of  months. 

Stevenson  then  accompanied  Mr.  Harold  Sewall,  the 
American  Consul-General,  upon  a  visit  to  Tutuila,  the 
easternmost  island  of  the  group,  now  added  to  the 
territory  of  the  United  States. 

Here  they  spent  three  weeks,  partly  by  the  shores  of 
114 


SOUTH   SEA   CRUISES -i  889-91 

the  great  harbour  of  Pagopago,  partly  on  an  attempt  to 
reach  the  islands  of  Manu'a  in  a  small  schooner,  and 
partly  in  circumnavigating  Tutuila  by  easy  stages  in  a 
whale-boat.  The  expedition  was  rather  at  the  mercy 
of  its  interpreter;  but  the  island  was  new  to  them,  and 
they  all  greatly  enjoyed  their  experiences.  It  was  the 
best  view  Stevenson  ever  had  of  the  more  remote  Sa- 
moans  in  their  own  homes,  and  the  scenery  and  the 
life  attracted  him  more  than  ever.  Fortunately  he 
kept  a  diary,  from  which  I  have  taken  a  few  charac- 
teristic passages:  — 

"  PAGOPAGO 

"  The  island  at  its  highest  point  is  nearly  severed  in 
two  by  the  long-elbowed  harbour,  about  half  a  mile 
in  width,  cased  everywhere  in  abrupt  mountain-sides. 
The  tongue  of  water  sleeps  in  perfect  quiet,  and  laps 
around  its  continent  with  the  flapping  wavelets  of  a 
lake.  The  wind  passes  overhead;  day  and  night  over- 
head the  scroll  of  trade-wind  clouds  is  unrolled  across 
the  sky,  now  in  vast  sculptured  masses,  now  in  a  thin 
drift  of  debris,  singular  shapes  of  things,  protracted 
and  deformed  beasts  and  trees  and  heads  and  torsos  of 
old  marbles,  changing,  fainting,  and  vanishing  even  as 
they  flee.  Below,  meanwhile,  the  harbour  lies  un- 
shaken and  laps  idly  on  its  margin ;  its  colour  is  green 
like  a  forest  pool,  bright  in  the  shallows,  dark  in  the 
midst  with  the  reflected  sides  of  woody  mountains. 
At  times  a  flicker  of  silver  breaks  the  uniformity, 
miniature  whitecaps  flashing  and  disappearing  on  the 
sombre  ground;  to  see  it,  you  might  think  the  wind 
was  treading  on  and  toeing  the  flat  water,  but  not  so 

"5 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

—the  harbour  lies  unshaken,  and  the  flickering  is  that 
of  fishes. 

"  Right  in  the  wind's  eye,  and  right  athwart  the 
dawn,  a  conspicuous  mountain  stands,  designed  like 
an  old  fort  or  castle,  with  naked  cliffy  sides  and  a  green 
head.  In  the  peep  of  the  day  the  mass  is  outlined 
dimly;  as  the  east  fires,  the  sharpness  of  the  silhouette 
grows  definite,  and  through  all  the  chinks  of  the  high 
wood  the  red  looks  through,  like  coals  through  a  grate. 
From  the  other  end  of  the  harbour,  and  at  the  extreme 
of  the  bay,  when  the  sun  is  down  and  night  begin- 
ning, and  colours  and  shapes  at  the  sea-level  are  already 
confounded  in  the  greyness  of  the  dusk,  the  same  peak 
retains  for  some  time  a  tinge  of  phantom  rose. 

"  Last  night  I  was  awakened  before  midnight  by  the 
ship-rats  which  infest  the  shores  and  invade  the  houses, 
incredible  for  numbers  and  boldness.  I  went  to  the 
water's  edge;  the  moon  was  at  the  zenith;  vast  fleecy 
clouds  were  travelling  overhead,  their  borders  frayed 
and  extended  as  usual  in  fantastic  arms  and  promon- 
tories. The  level  of  their  flight  is  not  really  high,  it 
only  seems  so;  the  trade-wind,  although  so  strong  in 
current,  is  but  a  shallow  stream,  and  it  is  common  to 
see,  beyond  and  above  its  carry,  other  clouds  faring  on 
other  and  higher  winds.  As  I  looked,  the  skirt  of  a 
cloud  touched  upon  the  summit  of  Pioa,  and  seemed  to 
hang  and  gather  there,  and  darken  as  it  hung.  I  knew 
the  climate,  fled  to  shelter,  and  was  scarce  laid  down 
again  upon  the  mat  before  the  squall  burst.  In  its 
decline,  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  great  bell  rung  at  a  dis- 
tance; I  did  not  think  there  had  been  a  bell  upon  the 
island.  I  thought  the  hour  a  strange  one  for  the  ring- 

116 


SOUTH  SEA  CRUISES -1889-91 

ing,  but  I  had  no  doubt  it  was  being  rung  on  the  other 
side  at  the  Catholic  Mission,  and  lay  there  listening  and 
thinking,  and  trying  to  remember  which  of  the  bells  of 
Edinburgh  sounded  the  same  note.  It  stopped  almost 
with  the  squall.  Half  an  hour  afterwards,  another 
shower  struck  upon  the  house  and  spurted  awhile  from 
the  gutters  of  the  corrugated  roof;  and  again  with  its 
decline  the  bell  began  to  sound,  and  from  the  same  dis- 
tance. Then  I  laughed  at  myself,  and  this  bell  resolved 
into  an  eavesdrop  falling  on  a  tin  close  by  my  head. 
All  night  long  the  flaws  continued  at  brief  intervals. 
Morning  came,  and  showed  mists  on  all  the  mountain- 
tops,  a  grey  and  yellow  dawn,  a  fresh  accumulation  of 
rain  imminent  on  the  summit  of  Pioa,  and  the  whole 
harbour  scene  stripped  of  its  tropic  colouring  and 
wearing  the  appearance  of  a  Scottish  loch. 

"  And  not  long  after,  as  I  was  writing  on  this  page, 
sure  enough,  from  the  far  shore  a  bell  began  indeed  to 
ring.  It  has  but  just  ceased,  boats  have  been  passing 
the  harbour  in  the  showers,  the  congregation  is  within 
now,  and  the  mass  begun.  How  very  different  stories 
are  told  by  that  drum  of  tempered  iron !  To  the  natives 
a  new,  strange,  outlandish  thing:  to  us  of  Europe, 
redolent  of  home;  in  the  ear  of  the  priests,  calling  up 
memories  of  French  and  Flemish  cities,  and  perhaps 
some  carved  cathedral  and  the  pomp  of  celebrations;  in 
mine,  talking  of  the  grey  metropolis  of  the  north,  of  a 
village  on  a  stream,  of  vanished  faces  and  silent  tongues. 

"THE  BAY  OF  OA 

"  We  sailed  a  little  before  high-water,  and  came  skirt- 
ing for  some  while  along  a  coast  of  classical  landscapes, 

117 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

cliffy  promontories,  long  sandy  coves  divided  by  semi- 
independent  islets,  and  the  far-withdrawing  sides  of 
the  mountain,  rich  with  every  shape  and  shade  of  ver- 
dure. Nothing  lacked  but  temples  and  galleys ;  and  our 
own  long  whale-boat  sped  (to  the  sound  of  song)  by 
eight  nude  oarsmen  figured  a  piece  of  antiquity  better 
than  perhaps  we  thought.  No  road  leads  along  this 
coast;  we  scarce  saw  a  house;  these  delectable  islets 
lay  quite  desert,  inviting  seizure,  and  there  was  none 
like  Keats's  Endymion 1  to  hear  our  snowlight  cadences. 
On  a  sudden  we  began  to  open  the  bay  of  Oa.  At  the 
first  sight  my  mind  was  made  up— the  bay  of  Oa  was 
the  place  for  me.  We  could  not  enter  it,  we  were  as- 
sured; and  being  entered  we  could  not  land;  both 
statements  plainly  fictive;  both  easily  resolved  into  the 
fact  that  there  was  no  guest-house,  and  no  girls  to 
make  the  kava  for  our  boatmen  and  admire  their  sing- 
ing. A  little  gentle  insistence  produced  a  smiling  ac- 
quiescence, and  the  eight  oars  began  to  urge  us  slowly 
into  a  bay  of  the  /Eneid.  Right  overhead  a  conical 
hill  arises;  its  top  is  all  sheer  cliff  of  a  rosy  yellow, 
stained  with  orange  and  purple,  bristled  and  ivied  with 
individual  climbing  trees;  lower  down  the  woods  are 
massed ;  lower  again  the  rock  crops  out  in  a  steep  but- 
tress, which  divides  the  arc  of  beach.  The  boat  was 
eased  in,  we  landed  and  turned  this  way  and  that  like 
fools  in  a  perplexity  of  pleasures ;  now  some  way  into 
the  wood  toward  the  spire,  but  the  woods  had  soon 
strangled  the  path— in  the  Samoan  phrase,  the  way  was 
dead— and  we  began  to  flounder  in  impenetrable  bush, 
still  far  from  the  foot  of  the  ascent,  although  already 
i  Book  II.  l.  80. 
118 


SOUTH   SEA  CRUISES -i  889-9! 

the  greater  trees  began  to  throw  out  arms  dripping 
with  lianas,  and  to  accept  us  in  the  margin  of  their 
shadows.  Now  along  the  beach;  it  was  grown  upon 
with  crooked,  thick-leaved  trees  down  to  the  water's 
edge.  Immediately  behind  there  had  once  been  a 
clearing;  it  was  all  choked  with  the  mummy-apple, 
which  in  this  country  springs  up  at  once  at  the  heels  of 
the  axeman,  and  among  this  were  intermingled  the 
coco-palm  and  the  banana.  Our  landing  and  the  bay 
itself  had  nearly  turned  my  head.  '  Here  are  the  works 
of  all  the  poets  passim,'  I  said,  and  just  then  my 
companion  stopped.  'Behold  an  omen,'  said  he,  and 
pointed.  It  was  a  sight  I  had  heard  of  before  in  the 
islands,  but  not  seen :  a  little  tree  such  as  grows  some- 
times on  infinitesimal  islets  on  the  reef,  almost  stripped 
of  its  leaves,  and  covered  instead  with  feasting  butter- 
flies. These,  as  we  drew  near,  arose  and  hovered  in  a 
cloud  of  lilac  and  silver-grey1.  .  .  . 

"  All  night  the  crickets  sang  with  a  clear  trill  of  sil- 
ver; all  night  the  sea  filled  the  hollow  of  the  bay  with 
varying  utterance;  now  sounding  continuous  like  a 
mill-weir,  now  (perhaps  from  further  off)  with  swells 
and  silences.  I  went  wandering  on  the  beach,  when 
the  tide  was  low.  I  went  round  the  tree  before  our 
boys  had  stirred.  It  was  the  first  clear  grey  of  the 
morning;  and  I  could  see  them  lie,  each  in  his  place, 
enmeshed  from  head  to  foot  in  his  unfolded  kilt.  The 
Highlander  with  his  belted  plaid,  the  Samoan  with  his 
lavalava,  each  sleep  in  their  one  vesture  unfolded.  One 

1  "  Later  on  I  found  the  scene  repeated  in  another  place;  but  here 
the  butterflies  were  of  a  different  species,  glossy  brown  and  black, 
with  arabesques  of  white." 

119 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

boy  who  slept  in  the  open  under  the  trees  had  made 
his  pillow  of  a  smouldering  brand,  doubtless  for  the 
convenience  of  a  midnight  cigarette;  all  night  the  flame 
had  crept  nearer,  and  as  he  lay  there,  wrapped  like  an 
oriental  woman,  and  still  plunged  in  sleep,  the  redness 
was  within  two  handbreadths  of  his  frizzled  hair. 

"  I  had  scarce  bathed,  had  scarce  begun  to  enjoy  the 
fineness  and  the  precious  colours  of  the  morning,  the 
golden  glow  along  the  edge  of  the  high  eastern  woods, 
the  clear  light  on  the  sugar-loaf  of  Maugalai,  '.he  woven 
blue  and  emerald  of  the  cone,  the  chuckle  of  morning 
bird-song  that  filled  the  valley  of  the  woods,  when 
upon  a  sudden  a  draught  of  wind  came  from  the  lee- 
ward and  the  highlands  of  the  isle,  rain  rattled  on  the 
tossing  woods;  the  pride  of  the  morning  had  come 
early,  and  from  an  unlooked-for  side.  I  fled  for  refuge 
in  the  shed;  but  such  of  our  boys  as  were  awake  stirred 
not  in  the  least;  they  sat  where  they  were,  perched 
among  the  scattered  boxes  of  our  camp,  and  puffed  at 
their  stubborn  cigarettes,  and  crouched  a  little  in  the 
slanting  shower.  So  good  a  thing  it  is  to  wear  few 
clothes.  I,  who  was  largely  unclad— a  pair  of  serge 
trousers,  a  singlet,  woollen  socks,  and  canvas  shoes; 
think  of  it— envied  them  in  their  light  array. 

"  Thursday.—  The  others  withdrew  to  the  next  vil- 
lage. Meanwhile  I  had  Virgil's  bay  all  morning  to  my- 
self, and  feasted  on  solitude,  and  overhanging  woods, 
and  the  retiring  sea.  The  quiet  was  only  broken  by 
the  hoarse  cooing  of  wild  pigeons  up  the  valley,  and 
certain  inroads  of  capricious  winds  that  found  a  way 
hence  and  thence  down  the  hillside  and  set  the  palms 
clattering;  my  enjoyment  only  disturbed  by  clouds  of 

120 


SOUTH  SEA  CRUISES -1889-91 

dull,  voracious,  spotted,  and  not  particularly  envenomed 
mosquitoes.  When  I  was  still,  I  kept  Buhac  powder 
burning  by  me  on  a  stone  under  the  shed,  and  read 
Livy,  and  confused  to-day  and  two  thousand  years  ago, 
and  wondered  in  which  of  these  epochs  I  was  flourish- 
ing at  that  moment;  and  then  I  would  stroll  out,  and 
see  the  rocks  and  the  woods,  and  the  arcs  of  beaches, 
curved  like  a  whorl  in  a  fair  woman's  ear,  and  huge 
ancient  trees,  jutting  high  overhead  out  of  the  hanging 
forest,  and  feel  the  place  at  least  belonged  to  the  age  of 
fable,  and  awaited  -/Eneas  and  his  battered  fleets. 

"Showers  fell  often  in  the  night;  some  sounding 
from  far  off  like  a  cataract,  some  striking  the  house, 
but  not  a  drop  came  in.  ...  At  night  a  cry  of  a  wild 
cat-like  creature  in  the  bush.  Far  up  on  the  hill  one 
golden  tree;  they  say  it  is  a  wild  cocoanut:  I  know  it 
is  not,  they  must  know  so  too;  and  this  leaves  me  free 
to  think  it  sprang  from  the  gold  bough  of  Proserpine. 

"The  morning  was  all  in  blue;  the  sea  blue,  blue  in- 
shore upon  the  shallows,  only  the  blue  was  nameless; 
the  horizon  clouds  a  blue  like  a  fine  pale  porcelain,  the 
sky  behind  them  a  pale  lemon  faintly  warmed  with 
orange.  Much  that  one  sees  in  the  tropics  is  in  water- 
colours,  but  this  was  in  water-colours  by  a  young  lady." 

The  mention  of  Livy  recalls  a  curious  circumstance, 
and  raises  besides  the  question  of  Stevenson's  classical 
studies. 

A  year  or  two  later  he  told  me  that  he  had  read  sev- 
eral books  of  Livy  at  this  time,  but  found  the  style 
influencing  him  to  such  an  extent  that  he  resolved  to 
read  no  more,  just  as  in  earlier  days  he  had  been  driven 

121 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

to  abandon  Carlyle.  Mr.  Gosse  has  recorded  that  Wal- 
ter Pater  in  turn  refused  to  read  Stevenson  lest  the  in- 
dividuality of  his  own  style  might  be  affected,  but  it  is 
more  curious  to  find  Stevenson  himself  at  so  late  a 
stage  fearing  the  influence  of  a  Latin  author. 

As  to  his  classics,  he  was  ignorant  of  Greek,  and  pre- 
ferred the  baldest  of  Bohn's  translations  to  more  literary 
versions  that  might  come  between  him  and  the  origi- 
nals. His  whole  relation  to  Latin,  however,  was  very 
curious  and  interesting.  He  had  never  mastered  the 
grammar  of  the  language,  and  to  the  end  made  the 
most  elementary  mistakes.  Nevertheless,  he  had  a 
keen  appreciation  of  the  best  authors,  and,  indeed,  I  am 
not  sure  that  Virgil  was  not  more  to  him  than  any 
other  poet,  ancient  or  modern.  From  all  the  qualities 
of  the  pedant  he  was,  of  course,  entirely  free.  Just  as 
he  wrote  Scots  as  well  as  he  was  able,  "  not  caring  if  it 
hailed  from  Lauderdale  or  Angus,  from  the  Mearns  or 
Galloway,"  but  if  he  had  ever  heard  a  good  word,  he 
"used  it  without  shame,"  so  it  was  with  his  Latin. 
Technicalities  of  law  and  the  vocabulary  of  Ducange 
were  admitted  to  equal  rights  with  authors  of  the 
Golden  Age. 

Latin  no  doubt  told  for  much  in  the  dignity  and  con- 
cision of  his  style,  and  in  itself  it  was  to  him— as  we 
see  in  his  diary— always  a  living  language.  But  as  an 
influence,  Rome  counted  to  him  as  something  very 
much  more  than  a  literature— a  whole  system  of  law 
and  empire. 

From  this  expedition  he  returned  to  Apia  in  an  open 
boat,  a  twenty-eight  hours'  voyage  of  sixty-five  miles, 

122 


SOUTH   SEA   CRUISES -i  889-9 1 

on  which  schooners  have  before  now  been  lost.  But 
for  the  journey  and  the  exposure  Stevenson  was  none 
the  worse.  "  It  is  like  a  fairy-story  that  I  should  have 
recovered  liberty  and  strength,  and  should  go  round 
again  among  my  fellow-men,  boating,  riding,  bathing, 
toiling  hard  with  a  wood-knife  in  the  forest." 

Before  the  end  of  the  month  the  family  were  installed 
in  the  new  house,  and  in  May  they  were  reinforced  not 
only  by  the  elder  Mrs.  Stevenson,  but  also  by  Mrs. 
Strong  and  her  boy  from  Sydney,  who  thenceforward 
remained  under  Stevenson's  protecting  care. 

His  wanderings  were  now  at  an  end,  and  he  was  to 
enter  upon  a  period  of  settled  residence.  Stevenson 
has  been  generally  regarded  as  a  tourist  and  an  outside 
observer  in  Samoa,  especially  by  those  who  least  know 
the  Pacific  themselves.  There  is,  it  must  be  admitted, 
only  one  way  to  gain  a  lifelong  experience  of  any 
country,  but  to  have  lived  nowhere  else  is  conducive 
neither  to  breadth  of  view  nor  to  wisdom.  It  must  al- 
ways be  borne  in  mind  that  before  Stevenson  settled 
down  for  the  last  three  and  a  half  years  of  his  life  in 
his  own  house  of  Vailima,  he  had  spent  an  almost 
equal  length  of  time  in  visiting  other  islands  in  the 
Pacific.  In  fact,  had  he  been  deliberately  preparing 
himself  for  the  life  he  was  to  lead,  he  could  hardly  have 
pursued  a  wiser  course,  or  undergone  a  more  thorough 
training.  On  his  travels  he  enjoyed  exceptional  op- 
portunities of  gathering  information,  and  in  general 
knowledge  of  the  South  Seas,  and  of  Samoa  in  par- 
ticular, he  was  probably  at  the  time  of  his  death  rivalled 
by  no  more  than  two  or  three  persons  of  anything  like 
his  education  or  intelligence. 

123 


CHAPTER  XV 

VAILIMA —  1891-94 

"We  thank  Thee  for  this  place  in  which  we  dwell;  for  the  love 
that  unites  us;  for  the  peace  accorded  us  this  day;  for  the  hope  with 
which  we  expect  the  morrow;  for  the  health,  the  work,  the  food,  and 
the  bright  skies  that  make  our  lives  delightful;  for  our  friends  in  all 
parts  of  the  earth,  and  our  friendly  helpers  in  this  foreign  isle.  .  .  . 
Give  us  courage  and  gaiety  ind  the  quiet  mind.  Spare  to  us  our 
friends,  soften  to  us  our  enemies.  Bless  us,  if  it  may  be,  in  all  our 
innocent  endeavours.  If  it  may  not,  give  us  the  strength  to  encounter 
that  which  is  to  come,  that  we  be  brave  in  peril,  constant  in  tribu- 
lation, temperate  in  wrath,  and  in  all  changes  of  fortune,  and  down 
to  the  gates  of  death,  loyal  and  loving  one  to  another."  —  R.  L.  S., 
Vailima  Prayers. 

THE  new  house  and  the  augmentation  of  his  household 
marked  the  definite  change  in  Stevenson's  life,  which 
now  assumed  the  character  that  it  preserved  until  the 
end.  In  private  his  material  comfort  was  increased, 
and  he  was  delivered  from  most  of  the  interruptions  to 
which  his  work  had  lately  been  subject ;  in  public  it 
now  became  manifest  that  he  was  to  be  a  permanent 
resident  in  Samoa,  enjoying  all  the  advantages  of  wealth 
and  fame,  and  the  consideration  conferred  by  numerous 
retainers. 

To  the  world  of  his  readers,  and  to  many  who  never 
read  his  books,  his  position  became  one  of  extreme 
interest.  He  was  now  living,  as  the  legend  went, 
among  the  wildest  of  savages,  who  were  clearly  either 
always  at  war  or  circulating  reports  of  wars  imme- 
diately to  come;  settled  in  a  house,  the  splendour  and 

124 


VAILlMA-i89i-94 

luxury  of  which  were  much  exaggerated  by  rumour; 
dwelling  in  a  climate  which  was  associated  with  all  the 
glories  of  tropic  scenery  and  vegetation,  and  also,  in  the 
minds  of  his  countrymen  at  all  events,  with  a  tremen- 
dous cataclysm  of  the  elements,  from  which  the  British 
navy  had  emerged  with  triumph.  It  was  little  wonder 
that,  as  Mr.  Gosse  wrote  to  him,  "  Since  Byron  was  in 
Greece,  nothing  has  appealed  to  the  ordinary  literary 
man  so  much  as  that  you  should  be  living  in  the  South 
Seas." 

It  is  clear  that  a  mode  of  life  so  unusual  for  a  man  of 
letters  not  only  absolves  his  biographer  from  the  duty 
of  withholding  as  far  as  possible  the  details  of  every-day 
existence,  but  even  lays  upon  him  the  necessity  of  ex- 
plaining various  trivial  matters,  which,  if  they  belonged 
to  the  life  of  cities  or  of  states,  it  would  be  his  first 
anxiety  to  suppress.  It  well  may  be  that  no  author  of 
eminence  will  ever  again  take  up  his  abode  in  Samoa  or 
even  in  the  South  Seas,  but  the  problem  of  keeping  in 
touch  at  the  same  time  with  man,  with  nature,  and 
with  the  world  of  letters,  is  as  far  from  its  solution  as 
from  losing  its  general  interest.  And  the  most  stolid 
of  glances  cannot  fail  to  be  arrested  for  a  moment  by 
the  sight  of  a  figure  as  chivalrous  and  romantic  as 
Stevenson,  living  in  a  world  so  striking,  so  appropriate, 
and  so  picturesque. 

To  trace  in  detail  the  growth  of  the  house  or  the  de- 
velopment of  the  estate  would  be  no  less  tedious  than 
to  follow  closely  the  course  of  political  intrigues  or  the 
appointment  and  departure  of  successive  officials.  I 
shall  therefore  abandon  the  temporal  order,  and  briefly 
describe,  in  the  first  instance,  the  material  environment 

125 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

in  which  Stevenson  lived,  his  house,  and  the  surround- 
ing country,  his  mode  of  life,  his  friends  and  visitors, 
his  work,  and  his  amusements.  It  will  then  be  neces- 
sary to  mention  very  briefly  his  political  relations  be- 
fore passing  on  to  the  record  of  his  writings  during 
this  period. 

The  island  of  Upolu,  on  which  he  lived,  was  the 
central  and  most  important  of  the  three  principal 
islands  composing  the  group  to  which  the  collective 
name  of  Samoa  is  applied.  It  is  some  five-and-forty 
miles  in  length  and  about  eleven  in  average  breadth. 
The  interior  is  densely  wooded,  and  a  central  range  of 
hills  runs  from  east  to  west.  Apia,  the  chief  town,  is 
situated  about  the  centre  of  the  north  coast,  and  it  was 
on  the  hills  about  three  miles  inland  that  Stevenson 
made  his  home. 

The  house  and  clearing  lay  on  the  western  edge  of  a 
tongue  of  land  several  hundred  yards  in  width,  situated 
between  two  streams,  from  the  westernmost  of  which 
the  steep  side  of  Vaea  Mountain,  covered  with  forest, 
rises  to  a  height  of  thirteen  hundred  feet  above  the  sea. 
On  the  east,  beyond  Stevenson's  boundary,  the  ground 
fell  away  rapidly  into  the  deep  valley  of  the  Vaisigano, 
the  principal  river  of  the  island.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  western  stream,  formed  by  the  junction  of  several 
smaller  watercourses  above,  ran  within  Stevenson's 
own  ground,  and,  not  far  below  the  house,  plunged 
over  a  barrier  of  rock  with  a  fall  of  about  twelve  feet 
into  a  delightful  pool,  just  deep  enough  for  bathing  and 
arched  over  with  orange-trees.  A  few  hundred  yards 
lower  down  it  crossed  his  line  with  an  abrupt  plunge 
of  forty  or  fifty  feet.  It  was  from  this  stream  and  its 

126 


I 

VAILIMA-i89i-94 

four  chief  tributaries  that  Stevenson  gave  to  the  prop- 
erty the  Samoan  name  of  Vailima,  or  Five  Waters. 

The  place  itself  lay,  as  has  been  said,  some  three 
miles  from  the  coast,  and  nearly  six  hundred  feet  above 
sea-level.  From  the  town  a  good  carriage-road,  a 
mile  in  length,  led  to  the  native  village  of  Tanugama- 
nono,  where  the  Stevensons  had  lodged  upon  their  first 
arrival.  Beyond  that  point  there  was  for  a  time  no- 
thing but  the  roughest  of  footpaths,  which  led  across  the 
hills  to  the  other  side  of  the  island  through  a  forest 
region  wholly  uninhabited,  all  the  native  villages  being 
either  by  the  sea  or  within  a  short  distance  of  the 
coast. 

The  track  to  Vailima  was  made  over  and  over  again 
by  Stevenson,  occasionally  in  concert  with  some  of  the 
owners  of  the  lower  lands,  until  it  gradually  assumed 
the  appearance  of  a  road,  and  could  be  traversed  in  dry 
weather  by  wagons  or  even  by  a  buggy.  But  to  the 
last  the  carrying  for  the  house  was  done  by  the  two 
big  New  Zealand  pack-horses.  East,  and  west,  and 
south  of  the  clearing  the  land  was  covered  with  thick 
bush,  containing  many  scattered  lofty  forest  trees  like 
those  judiciously  spared  by  the  axemen  where  they  did 
not  endanger  the  new  house.  Here  and  there  in  the 
forest  was  a  great  banyan  with  branching  roots,  cover- 
ing many  square  yards  of  surface,  and  affording  a  rest- 
ing-place for  the  flying-foxes,  the  great  fruit-eating 
bats,  which  sally  forth  at  dusk  with  a  slow,  heavy 
flight,  like  a  straggling  company  of  rooks  making  for 
the  coast.  Even  to  the  north,  although  most  of  the 
ground  between  Vailima  and  Apia  had  to  some  extent 
been  cultivated,  along  the  "road"  the  trees  grew  close 

127 


LIFE   OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

and  high,  and  on  a  dark  night  the  phosphorescence 
gleamed  on  fallen  logs  amid  the  undergrowth,  twin- 
kling and  flickering  to  and  fro,  like  the  hasty  footsteps 
of  the  witches  the  Samoans  believed  it  to  be.  On  the 
estate  itself  the  route  lay  by  the  lane  of  limes,  a  rugged, 
narrow,  winding  path,  that  seemed,  as  Stevenson  said, 
"almost  as  if  it  was  leading  to  Lyonesse,  and  you 
might  see  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  giant  looking 
in."1  But  this  part  of  the  track  was  afterwards  cut  off 
by  the  Ala  Loto  Alofa,  the  Road  of  the  Loving  Heart, 
built  by  the  Mataafa  chiefs  in  return  for  Tusitala's  kind- 
ness to  them  in  prison.  It  was  a  broader  and  more  level 
way,  also  leading  past  a  fragrant  lime-hedge,  and  hav- 
ing as  the  centre  of  its  view  for  any  one  journeying  to 
Vailima  the  wooded  crest  of  Vaea. 

The  house  of  Vailima  was  built  of  wood  throughout, 
painted  a  dark  green  outside,  with  a  red  roof  of  corru- 
gated iron,  on  which  the  heavy  rain  sounded  like 
thunder  as  it  fell  and  ran  off  to  be  stored  for  household 
purposes  in  the  large  iron  tanks.  The  building  finally 
consisted  of  two  blocks  of  equal  size,  placed,  if  I  may 
use  a  military  phrase  in  this  connection,  in  echelon.  It 
was  the  great  defect  of  the  house  in  its  master's  eyes 
that  from  a  strategical  point  of  view  it  was  not  defen- 
sible, but  fortunately  there  was  never  an  occasion  during 
his  lifetime  when  it  would  have  been  desirable  to  place 
it  in  a  state  of  siege.  It  fulfilled  many  of  the  require- 
ments both  of  structure  and  more  especially  of  position 
which  he  had  laid  down  for  his  ideal  house.2 

After  December,  1892,  the  downstairs  accommoda- 
tion consisted  of  three  rooms,  a  bath,  a  storeroom  and 

1  failima  Letters,  p.  258.  2  Miscellanea,  p.  42. 

128 


VAILIMA-i89i-94 

cellars  below,  with  five  bedrooms  and  the  library  up- 
stairs. On  the  ground-floor,  a  verandah,  twelve  feet 
deep,  ran  in  front  of  the  whole  house  and  along  one 
side  of  it.  Originally  there  had  been  a  similar  gallery 
above  in  front  of  the  library,  but  it  so  darkened  that  room 
as  to  make  it  almost  useless  for  working.  Stevenson 
then  had  half  of  the  open  space  boarded  in,  and  used  it 
as  his  own  bedroom  and  study,  the  remainder  of  the 
verandah  being  sheltered,  when  necessary,  by  Chinese 
blinds.  The  new  room  was  thus  a  sort  of  martin's 
nest,  plastered  as  it  were  upon  the  outside  of  the  house ; 
but  except  for  being  somewhat  hot  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  it  served  its  purpose  to  perfection.  A  small  bed- 
stead, a  couple  of  bookcases,  a  plain  deal  kitchen  table 
and  two  chairs  were  all  its  furniture,  and  two  or  three 
favourite  Piranesi  etchings  and  some  illustrations  of  Ste- 
venson's own  works  hung  upon  the  walls.  At  one  side 
was  a  locked  rack  containing  half-a-dozen  Colt's  rifles  for 
the  service  of  the  family  in  case  they  should  ever  be  re- 
quired. One  door  opened  into  the  library,  the  other 
into  the  verandah ;  one  window,  having  from  its  eleva- 
tion the  best  view  the  house  afforded,  looked  across  the 
lawns  and  pasture,  over  the  tree-tops,  out  to  the  sap- 
phire sea,  while  the  other  was  faced  by  the  abrupt  slope 
of  Vaea.  The  library  was  lined  with  books,  the  covers 
of  which  had  all  been  varnished  to  protect  them  from 
the  climate.  The  most  important  divisions  were  the 
shelves  allotted  to  the  history  of  Scotland,  to  French 
books  either  modern  or  relating  to  the  fifteenth  century, 
to  military  history,  and  to  books  relating  to  the  Pacific. 
At  this  height  the  beat  of  the  surf  was  plainly  to  be 
heard,  but  soothing  to  the  ear  and  far  away;  other 
H  '29 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

noises  there  were  none  but  the  occasional  note  of  a  bird, 
a  cry  from  the  boys  at  work,  or  the  crash  of  a  falling 
tree.  The  sound  of  wheels  or  the  din  of  machinery 
was  hardly  known  in  the  island :  about  the  house  all 
went  barefoot,  and  scarcely  in  the  world  could  there  be 
found  among  the  dwellings  of  men  a  deeper  silence 
than  in  Stevenson's  house  in  the  forest. 

The  chief  feature  within  was  the  large  hall  that 
occupied  the  whole  of  the  ground-floor  of  the  newer 
portion  of  the  house — a  room  about  sixty  feet  long  and 
perhaps  forty  wide,  lined  and  ceiled  with  varnished 
redwood  from  California.  Here  the  marble  bust  of  old 
Robert  Stevenson  twinkled  with  approval  upon  many  a 
curiously  combined  company,  while  a  couple  of  Bur- 
mese gilded  idols  guarded  the  two  posts  of  the  big 
staircase  leading  directly  from  the  room  to  the  upper 
floor.  An  old  Samoan  chief,  being  one  day  at  his  own 
request  shown  over  the  house,  and  having  seen  many 
marvels  of  civilisation  of  which  he  had  never  dreamed, 
showed  no  sign  of  interest,  far  less  of  amazement,  but 
as  he  was  departing  he  looked  over  his  shoulder  at  the 
two  Buddhas  and  asked  indifferently :  ' '  Are  they  alive  ?  " 
In  one  corner  was  built  a  large  safe,  which,  being  con- 
tinually replenished  from  Apia,  rarely  contained  any 
large  amount  of  money  at  a  time,  but  was  supposed  by 
the  natives  to  be  the  prison  of  the  Bottle  Imp,  the 
source  of  all  Stevenson's  fortune.  In  this  room  hung 
Mr.  Sargent's  portrait  of  Stevenson  and  his  wife,  Sir 
George  Reid's  portrait  of  Thomas  Stevenson,  two  re- 
puted Hogarths  which  the  old  gentleman  had  picked 
up,  two  or  three  of  R.  A.  M.  Stevenson's  best  works, 
a  picture  of  horses  by  Mr.  Arthur  Lemon,  and — greatly 

130 


VAILIMA-i89i-94 

to  the  scandal  of  native  visitors  —  a  plaster  group  by 
Rodin. 

In  front  of  the  house  lay  a  smooth  green  lawn  of 
couch-grass,  used  for  tennis  or  croquet,  and  bounded 
on  two  sides  by  a  hibiscus-hedge  which,  within  a  few 
months  of  its  planting,  was  already  six  feet  high  and  a 
mass  of  scarlet  double  blossoms  —  the  favourite  flowers 
of  the  Samoan. 

Immediately  behind  the  mansion  lay  the  wooden 
kitchen  and  a  native  house  for  the  cook.  A  hundred 
yards  to  one  side  the  original  cottage  in  which  Steven- 
son first  lived  had  been  re-erected,  to  serve  upstairs  as 
bedrooms  for  Mr.  Osbourne  and  myself,  downstairs  for 
the  house-boys,1  for  stores,  tool-house,  and  harness- 
room. 

Upon  the  other  side  another  native  house  lay,  half- 
way towards  the  stream.  The  ground  below  the  home 
fence  was  all  used  for  pasture;  in  front,  the  milking- 
shed  occupied  the  site  of  the  old  house;  and  the  pig- 
pen, impregnably  fenced  with  barbed  wire,  lay  a  couple 
of  hundred  yards  in  the  rear.  At  the  back  also  were 
the  old  disused  stables,  for  in  later  days  the  horses  were 
always  kept  out  at  grass  in  the  various  paddocks, 
coming  up  for  their  feed  of  corn  every  morning  and 
evening. 

But  even  when  the  house  itself  was  provided,  its 
service  was  the  great  difficulty.  Competent  and  will- 
ing white  helpers  were  not  to  be  procured,  and  though 
there  were  many  natives  employed  in  Apia,  yet  Samoa, 
less  fortunate  than  India,  possessed  no  class  of  natives 

1  In  Samoa,  as  in  many  other  lands,  native  servants  of  all  ages  are 
known  in  English  as  "  boys." 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

ready  to  minister  to  a  white  master  with  skill  and 
devotion  for  a  trifling  wage. 

At  first  Stevenson  tried  European  and  colonial  ser- 
vants. Two  German  men  cooks  passed  through  his 
kitchen :  a  Sydney  lady's-maid  brought  dissensions  into 
the  household :  a  white  overseer  and  three  white  carters 
came  and  left,  causing  various  degrees  of  dissatisfaction. 
Then  Mrs.  Stevenson  went  away  for  a  change  to  Fiji ; 
in  her  absence  the  family  made  a  clean  sweep  of  the 
establishment,  and  Mrs.  Strong  and  her  brother  took 
the  entire  charge  of  the  kitchen  into  their  own  hands 
with  complete  success.  This  was  of  necessity  a  passing 
expedient.  One  day,  however,  Mr.  Osbourne  found  a 
Samoan  lad,  with  a  hibiscus  flower  behind  his  ear, 
sitting  on  an  empty  packing-case  beside  the  cook- 
house. He  had  come,  it  seemed,  to  collect  half  a  dollar 
which  the  native  overseer  owed  him,  and  he  was  quite 
content  to  wait  for  several  hours  until  his  debtor  should 
return.  In  the  meantime  he  was  brought  into  the  kitch- 
en, and  then  and  there  initiated  into  the  secrets  of  the 
white  man's  cookery.  He  was  amused,  interested, 
fascinated,  and  he  plunged  enthusiastically  into  the 
mysteries  of  his  future  profession.  Fortunately  in  Samoa 
cookery  was  regarded  as  an  art  worthy  of  men's  hands, 
and  was  practised  even  by  high  chiefs.  The  newcomer 
showed  great  aptitude;  Mr.  Osbourne  persuaded  him 
to  stay,  sent  for  his  chest,  and  for  several  days  would 
hardly  let  him  out  of  his  sight.  So  from  that  time  forth 
Ta'alolo  was  head  cook  of  Vailima,  soon  having  a  ' '  boy  " 
under  him  as  scullion,  taking  only  a  few  occasional 
holidays,  and  perfecting  his  art  by  visits  to  the  kitchen 
of  the  French  priests.  In  time  he  brought  into  the 

132 


VAILIMA-i89i-94 

household  several  of  his  relations,  who  were  Catholics 
like  himself,  and  proved  the  best  and  most  trustworthy 
of  all  the  boys. 

A  very  few  days  after  my  first  arrival  one  of  these 
newcomers  appeared  in  the  character  of  assistant  table- 
boy,  a  clumsy,  half-developed,  rather  rustic  youth,  who 
of  course  knew  no  English,  a  sign  that  he  was  at  any 
rate  free  from  the  tricks  of  the  Apia-bred  rascal.  At  the 
first,  Sosimo  seemed  unlikely  material,  but  there  was  a 
certain  seriousness  and  resolution  about  him  which 
quickly  produced  their  effect.  He  soon  became  known 
as  "The  Butler,"  and  before  long  was  promoted  to  be 
head  boy  in  the  pantry.  From  the  beginning  he  at- 
tached himself  to  Tusitala  with  a  whole-hearted  alle- 
giance. He  waited  on  him  hand  and  foot,  looked 
scrupulously  after  his  clothes,  devoted  special  attention 
to  his  pony  "Jack,"  and  made  one  of  the  most  trust- 
worthy and  efficient  servants  I  have  ever  known. 
When  the  end  came,  few  if  any  showed  as  much  feeling 
as  Sosimo,  and  his  loyalty  to  his  master's  memory 
lasted  to  the  end  of  his  own  life. 

These  two  men  were  the  best,  but  as  I  write,  I  recall 
Leuelu,  and  Mitaele,  and  lopu,  and  old  Lafaele,  and 
many  more,  not  all  such  good  servants,  not  all  so  loyal 
or  so  honest  as  those  first  named,  but  all  with  many 
solid  merits,  many  pleasing  traits,  and  a  genuine  per- 
sonal devotion  to  Tusitala  which  pleased  him  as  much 
as  many  more  brilliant  qualities. 

The  table  was  fully  provided  with  white  napery  and 
silver  and  glass  according  to  the  usual  English  custom, 
as  it  had  prevailed  in  the  house  of  Stevenson's  father. 
The  cookery  was  eclectic  and  comprised  such  English 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

and  American  dishes  as  could  be  obtained  or  imitated, 
together  with  any  'native  food  which  was  found  pala- 
table. Of  the  supplies  I  shall  speak  later:  it  was  the 
contrast  between  table  and  servants  that  was  most 
striking.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  picturesque 
than  to  sit  at  an  ordinary  modern  dinner-table  and  be 
waited  on  skilfully  by  a  noble  barbarian  with  perfect 
dignity  and  grace  of  carriage  and  manners  hardly  to  be 
surpassed,  who  yet,  if  the  weather  were  warm  and  the 
occasion  ordinary,  had  for  all  his  clothing  a  sheet  of 
calico,  in  which  his  tattooed  waist  and  loins  alone 
were  draped. 

The  actual  house-servants  were  usually  about  half  a 
dozen  in  number,  two  in  the  kitchen,  two  or  three  for 
house  and  table  service;  one,  Mrs.  Stevenson's  special 
boy,  for  the  garden  and  her  own  general  service,  and 
one  more  to  take  charge  of  the  cows  and  pigs.  Besides 
these,  there  was  always  a  band  of  outside  labourers 
under  a  native  overseer  supervised  by  Mr.  Osbourne, 
working  on  the  plantation,  varying  in  number,  accord- 
ing to  the  amount  of  clearing  in  hand,  from  half-a-dozen 
to  twenty  or  thirty  men.  The  signal  for  beginning 
and  leaving  off  their  work  was  always  given  by  blow- 
ing the  pu,  a  large  conch-shell,1  that  made  a  great 
booming  sound  that  could  be  heard  in  the  farthest 
recesses  of  the  plantation. 

The  great  fear  of  the  householder  in  Samoa  used  to  be 
the  dread  of  war,  lest  he  should  wake  one  morning  and 
find  that  all  his  servants  had  been  ordered  out  on  ser- 
vice by  their  respective  chiefs.     By  Stevenson's  inter- 
vention the  Vailima  household  staff  was  generally  kept 
1  Triton  variegatus. 
134 


VAILIMA-i89«-94 

at  home,  but  the  plantation  was  several  times  deserted 
and  had  to  await  the  restoration  of  peace. 

The  government  of  the  household  was  as  far  as  pos- 
sible on  the  clan  system.  "It  is  something  of  your 
own  doing,"  Stevenson  had  written  to  his  mother  from 
Bournemouth  in  1886,  "  if  I  take  a  somewhat  feudal 
view  of  our  relation  to  servants.  .  .  .  The  Nemesis  of 
the  bourgeois  who  has  chosen  to  shut  out  his  servants  — 
his  '  family '  in  the  old  Scotch  sense  — from  all  intimacy 
and  share  in  the  pleasures  of  the  house,  attends  us  at 
every  turn.  An  impossible  relation  is  created,  and 
brings  confusion  to  all."1 

If  this  were  his  attitude  among  the  artificial  conditions 
of  England,  he  was  not  likely  to  adopt  a  more  modern 
position  in  Samoa,  where  the  patriarchal  stage  of  society 
still  prevailed.  Accordingly  from  the  first  he  used  all 
opportunities  to  consolidate  the  household  as  a  family, 
in  which  the  boys  should  take  as  much  pride  and  feel 
as  much  common  interest  as  possible.  His  ideal  was 
to  maintain  the  relation  of  a  Highland  chief  to  his  clan, 
such  as  it  existed  before  the  '45,  since  this  seemed  to 
approach  most  nearly  to  the  actual  state  of  things  in 
Samoa  at  the  time,  and  best  met  the  difficulties  which 
beset  the  relations  of  master  and  servant  in  his  own  day. 
He  adopted  a  tartan  for  the  Vailima  kilt,  to  be  worn  on 
high  days  and  holidays;  he  encouraged  the  boys  to 
seek  his  help  and  advice  on  all  matters,  and  was  espe- 
cially delighted  when  they  preferred  to  him  such  re- 
quests as  to  grant  his  permission  to  a  marriage. 

It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  they  were 
allowed  their  own  way,  or  indulged  when  they  mis- 

1  Cf.  Letters,  ii.  21. 
135 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

behaved  themselves.  On  such  occasions  the  whole 
household  would  be  summoned,  a  sort  of  "  bed  of  jus- 
tice "  would  be  held,  and  sharp  reprimands  and  fines 
inflicted. 

Even  with  all  these  servants,  the  white  man  was 
separated  from  the  material  crises  of  life  by  a  somewhat 
thin  barrier,  for  even  the  best  and  most  responsible 
natives  were  at  times  brought  face  to  face  with  emer- 
gencies beyond  their  powers,  and  had  to  fall  back  upon 
their  master's  help.  Such  occasions  of  course  befell 
Stevenson  most  frequently  in  the  early  days  when  he 
was  living  in  the  cottage  with  his  wife  and  the  white 
cook.  Much  of  his  time  was  then  taken  up  unexpect- 
edly in  such  pieces  of  business  as  may  be  found  in  the 
first  pages  of  the  Vailima  Letters:  in  measuring  land, 
rubbing  down  foundered  cart-horses,  ejecting  stray 
horses  during  the  night  or  wandering  pigs  during  the 
day,  or  even  in  little  household  tasks  which  no  one  else 
was  available  to  discharge.  In  later  days  his  wife  and 
all  the  family  were  able  jealously  to  prevent  such  en- 
croachments on  his  time,  but  during  the  last  two  years 
I  can  remember  the  master  of  the  house  himself  helping 
with  delight  to  feed  a  refractory  calf  that  refused  the 
bottle,  driving  out  an  angry  bull,  or  doctoring  stray 
natives  suffering  from  acute  colic  or  wounded  feet,  to 
say  nothing  of  chance  hours  spent  in  planting  or  in 
weeding  the  cacao. 

One  morning's  work  stands  out  conspicuously  in  my 
memory.  A  hogshead  of  claret  had,  after  many  misad- 
ventures, arrived  from  Bordeaux  slightly  broached,  so 
that  it  had  to  be  bottled  immediately.  Stevenson  feared 
the  effect  of  the  fumes  even  of  the  light  wine  upon  the 

136 


VAIL1MA-I89I-94 

natives,  so  he  himself  with  our  aid  undertook  the  work. 
The  boys  were  sent  off  to  the  stream  with  relays  of 
bottles  to  wash  while  we  tapped  the  cask,  and  the  red 
wine  flowed  all  the  morning  into  jugs  and  basins  be- 
neath. It  was  poured  away  into  the  bottles,  and  they 
were  corked  and  dipped  into  a  large  pot  of  green  sealing- 
wax  kept  simmering  on  the  kitchen  fire.  There  seemed 
not  to  be  any  fumes  to  affect  us,  but  the  anticipation, 
and  the  pressure  to  get  done,  the  novelty  of  the  work, 
and,  above  all,  Stevenson's  contagious  enthusiasm, 
produced  a  great  feeling  of  delight  and  exhilaration,  and 
made  a  regular  vintage  festival  of  the  day.  Stevenson 
was  in  his  glory,  as  he  always  was  when  he  felt  that  he 
was  doing  a  manual  task,  and,  above  all,  when  he  was 
able  to  work  in  concert  with  others,  and  give  his  love 
of  camaraderie  full  scope. 

And  throughout  his  life,  for  Stevenson  to  throw  him- 
self into  any  employment  which  could  kindle  his 
imagination  was  to  see  him  transfigured.  The  little 
boy  who  told  himself  stories  about  his  football x  came 
to  weed  in  Samoa,  and  was  there  ever  such  an  account 
of  weeding  since  the  world  began  ?  He  drove  stray 
horses  to  the  pound,  and  it  became  a  Border  foray.  He 
held  an  inquiry  into  the  theft  of  a  pig,  and  he  bore  him- 
self as  if  he  were  the  Lord  President  in  the  Inner  House. 
But  on  the  memorable  day  when  we  scampered  through 
the  outposts  of  Mataafa's  troops,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  Louis  saw  armed  men  actually  taking  the 
field,  even  his  own  words  hardly  serve  to  express  his 
exhilaration  and  outburst  of  spirit:  "So  home  a  little 
before  six,  in  a  dashing  squall  of  rain,  to  a  bowl  of  kava 

1  See  vol.  i.  p.  66. 
'37 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

and  dinner.  But  the  impression  on  our  minds  was  ex- 
traordinary ;  the  sight  of  that  picket  at  the  ford,  and 
those  ardent,  happy  faces,  whirls  in  my  head ;  the  old 
aboriginal  awoke  in  both  of  us  and  nickered  like  a 
stallion.  .  .  .  War  is  a  huge  entrainement;  there  is  no 
other  temptation  to  be  compared  to  it,  not  one.  We 
were  all  wet,  we  had  been  about  five  hours  in  the 
saddle,  mostly  riding  hard;  and  we  came  home  like 
schoolboys,  with  such  a  lightness  of  spirits,  and  I  am 
sure  such  a  brightness  of  eye,  as  you  could  have  lit  a 
candle  at."  * 

When  any  special  entertainment  was  to  be  given,  a 
dinner-party  or  a  large  luncheon,  the  whole  family  of 
course  set  to  work  to  see  that  everything  was  properly 
done.  Some  saw  to  the  decoration  of  the  table  or  the 
polishing  of  the  silver,  or  the  blending  of  the  preliminary 
"cocktail";  Stevenson  loved  to  devote  himself  to  the 
special  cleaning  of  what  he  called  in  the  Scots  phrase 
"the  crystal,  "and  his  use  of  the  glass-cloth  on  decanter 
and  wine-glasses  would  have  rejoiced  the  heart  of  an 
expert 

Nor  were  there  wanting  occasions  in  which  prompt 
action  or  careful  and  skilled  investigation  was  needed. 
On  two  successive  nights  the  house  was  nearly  set  on 
fire  by  a  defective  oil  lantern,  and  only  boxes  of  earth 
saved  it;  and  at  another  time  the  dishonest  use  of  red 
lead  upon  the  roof  turned  all  the  rain-tanks  into  so  many 
poisoned  wells,  and  disabled  the  whole  party  for  several 
weeks. 

As  for  the  food,  when  there  was  a  large  household 
to  be  supplied  and  a  daily  delivery  from  Apia  had  been 

1  Vailima  Letters,  June  28th,  1893. 
138 


VAILIMA-i89i-94 

arranged,  there  was  no  great  difficulty  in  catering,  apart 
from  the  expense.  The  meat  came  from  the  butcher, 
and  the  bread  from  the  baker,  the  groceries,  if  needed, 
from  the  grocer,  and  the  washing  from  the  washer- 
woman, as  in  less  romantic  communities.  There  was 
a  large  storeroom,  plentifully  supplied  from  the  Colonies 
and  from  home.  There  were  generally  three  or  four 
cows  in  milk,  and  a  supply  of  pigs  and  chickens  being 
reared  for  the  table.  The  herd  of  wild  cattle  sold  with 
the  estate  certainly  did  not  exist  within  many  miles  of 
its  boundaries,  though  I  believe  that  the  animals  were 
not  mythical,  but  led  a  real  existence  in  another  part  of 
the  island,  whither  they  had  betaken  themselves.  But  if 
there  were  no  four-footed  creatures,  birds  were  plentiful. 
Large  pigeons  were  brought  in  from  the  surrounding 
woods,  especially  at  the  season  when  they  had  been 
feeding  on  the  wild  nutmeg-trees.  The  only  game  to 
be  obtained  was  an  occasional  mallard,  a  rail,  or  a  galli- 
mule,  unless  the  manume'a  be  reckoned,  the  one  sur- 
viving species  of  dodo,  a  bird  about  the  size  of  a  small 
moor-hen,  which  has  only  recovered  its  present  feeble 
powers  of  flight  since  cats  were  introduced  into  the 
island.  I  have  found  it  in  the  woods  above  Vailima, 
but  we  never  shot  it  ourselves,  and  its  dark  flesh  was 
as  rare  upon  the  table  as  it  was  delicious.  Fresh-water 
prawns  came  from  the  stream,  and  now  and  again 
some  sea-fish  might  be  sent  up  from  the  coast,  where 
it  was  abundant.  Vegetables  were  hardly  to  be  bought, 
but  a  piece  of  swampy  ground  half  a  mile  from  the 
house  was  turned  into  a  patch  for  taro,  the  finest  of 
all  substitutes  for  the  potato.  Bananas  and  breadfruit- 
trees  were  planted,  and  Mrs.  Stevenson  developed  under 

'39 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

her  own  supervision  a  garden  in  which  all  sorts  of 
new  plants  were  tried,  and  most  of  them  successfully 
adopted.  Cocoanuts,  oranges,  guavas,  and  mangoes 
grew  already  on  the  estate  or  in  a  paddock  just  below, 
which  was  taken  on  lease;  and  many  more  of  the  most 
improved  kinds  of  these  trees  were  planted  and  throve. 
The  common  hedges  on  the  estate  were  composed  of 
limes,  the  fruit  being  so  abundant  that  it  was  used  to 
scour  the  kitchen  floors  and  tables,  and  citrons  were  so 
common  that  they  rotted  on  the  trees.  Several  acres 
were  planted  with  pineapples,  which,  after  only  a  little 
cultivation,  equalled  the  best  varieties  of  their  kind. 
There  was  also  an  unrivalled  plantation  of  kava,  the 
shrub  whose  powdered  root  yields  the  Samoan  national 
drink.  Wherever  the  ground  was  cleared,  the  papaw 
or  mummy-apple  at  once  sprang  up  and  bore  its  whole- 
some and  insipid  fruit.  Cape  gooseberries  were  mere 
weeds;  soursops,  sweet  potatoes  and  avocado  pears, 
lemons  and  plums,  egg-plants  and  the  large  granadillas 
all  did  well  in  that  rich  volcanic  soil  and  that  marvellous 
climate.  Nothing  failed  of  tropical  products  except  the 
ambrosial  mangosteen,  the  capricious  child  of  the  Malay 
Peninsula.  The  cacao,  of  which  frequent  mention  is 
made  in  the  Vailima  Letters,  grew  and  came  into  bear- 
ing; but  the  irregular  and  rocky  surface  of  the  ground 
made  it  difficult  to  keep  clean,  and  also  caused  the 
plantation  to  be  very  straggling  and  irregular. 

But,  in  truth,  if  Stevenson  were  unfitted  for  a  South 
Sea  trader,  he  was  even  less  likely  to  be  the  successful 
manager  of  a  plantation  run  for  his  own  profit.  No 
Samoan  had  either  need  or  desire  to  work  regularly  for 
any  sum  less  than  seven  dollars  a  month  and  his  food, 

140 


VAILIMA-i89i-94 

but  these  wages  and  the  amount  of  work  rendered  for 
them  were  quite  incompatible  with  the  idea  of  com- 
petition in  the  markets  of  the  civilised  world.  Steven- 
son fed  his  men,  paid  them  regularly  in  cash  and  not  in 
trade,  and  neither  worked  them  in  bad  weather  nor 
discharged  them  for  sickness,  if  he  thought  it  was 
brought  on  by  exposure  in  the  course  of  doing  work 
for  him.  If  all  this  be  accounted  only  common  fair 
dealing,  he  had  besides  an  unusual  measure  of  that 
generosity  he  has  attributed  to  others,  "such  as  is  pos- 
sible to  those  who  practise  an  art,  never  to  those  who 
drive  a  trade."  At  any  rate,  the  plantation  never  paid 
its  way,  and  never  seriously  promised  to  become  self- 
supporting. 

The  temperature  was  generally  between  85°  and  90° 
Fahrenheit  at  noon,  and  always  fell  during  the  darkness 
to  70°,  or  less.  I  have  never  seen  it  at  any  time  lower 
than  62°  or  higher  than  95°  in  the  shade.  But  in  the 
early  morning  the  lower  temperature  strikes  one  by  con- 
trast as  bitterly  cold,  and  so  acutely  had  Stevenson  felt 
it  in  his  cottage  in  the  bush  that  two  large  fireplaces 
with  a  brick  chimney  were  built  in  the  big  house, 
though  after  a  while  they  were  seldom  or  never  used. 
It  was  the  contrast  that  was  trying,  even  at  higher  tem- 
peratures. "The  thermometer  is  only  8o°,"  wrote 
Stevenson,  "and  it  's  as  cold  as  charity  here.  You 
would  think  it  warm.  What  makes  these  differences? 
Eighty  degrees  is  a  common  temperature  with  us,  and 
usually  pleasant.  And  to-day  it  pricks  like  a  half  frost 
in  a  wet  November."  Through  the  dry  season  from 
April  to  October  a  fresh  trade-wind  blew  during  the 
day  from  the  south-east,  and  during  the  other  months, 

141 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

although  heavy  rain  was  more  frequent,  the  fine  days 
were  beyond  words  delightful.  "The  morning  is, 
ah!  such  a  morning  as  you  have  never  seen;  heaven 
upon  earth  for  sweetness,  freshness,  depth  upon  depth 
of  unimaginable  colour,  and  a  huge  silence  broken  at 
this  moment  only  by  the  far-away  murmur  of  the 
Pacific  and  the  rich  piping  of  a  single  bird."  l 

The  rainfall  is  said  to  average  about  one  hundred  and 
thirty  inches  during  the  year,  but  as  five  or  six  inches 
fall  during  a  really  wet  twenty-four  hours,  it  does  not 
argue  many  wet  days,  and,  moreover,  showers  fall 
freely  during  the  so-called  dry  season.  The  climate,  of 
course,  is  not  bracing,  but  it  is  probably  as  little  debili- 
tating as  that  of  any  place  lying  in  the  same  latitude  and 
no  further  removed  from  the  sea-level. 

There  is  a  total  absence  of  tropical  and  malarial 
fevers,  which  must  be  due  to  the  fact  that  the  germ- 
bearing  mosquito  either  does  not  exist,  or  finds  no  virus 
to  convey.a  And  this  is  the  more  remarkable  because 
in  the  western  limits  of  the  Pacific  the  fevers  of  New 
Guinea  and  New  Britain  are  the  deadliest  of  their  kind. 

Samoa,  in  common  with  the  rest  of  Polynesia,  is  for- 
tunate in  this  also,  that  it  contains  nothing  more  venom- 
ous than  a  few  centipedes,  and  even  these  have  been 
accidentally  imported  with  merchandise. 

Stevenson's  ordinary  manner  of  life  was  this:  He 
would  get  up  at  six,  or  perhaps  earlier,  and  begin  work. 

1  Vailima  Letters,  p.  243. 

8  If  it  be  the  latter  reason,  it  is  a  strong  argument  against  "  labour- 
traffic  "  importing  Melanesians  impregnated  with  this  poison  into  dis- 
tricts where  the  inhabitants  are  healthy. 

142 


VA1LIMA- 1891-94 

From  my  bed  in  the  cottage  I  commanded  a  view  of  his 
verandah,  and  often  and  often  I  have  waked  in  the  chill 
early  dawn  to  see  through  the  window  the  house  with 
the  mass  of  Vaea  towering  behind  it :  in  the  midst  there 
would  be  the  one  spot  of  bright  light  where  Tusitala,  the 
only  other  person  awake  of  all  the  household,  was 
already  at  his  labours.  Down  below,  the  monotonous 
beating  of  the  surf  could  be  heard ;  above,  through  the 
chill  air,  there  rang  the  repeated  call  of  the  manu-iao, 
"the  bird  of  dawn  "i  —  a  succession  of  clear  phrases 
recalling  with  a  difference  the  notes  at  once  of  the  thrush 
and  of  the  blackbird.  The  sky  brightened;  the  lamp 
was  extinguished;  the  household  began  to  stir;  and 
about  half-past  six  a  light  breakfast  was  taken  to  the 
master.  He  continued  to  work  by  himself,  chiefly  mak- 
ing notes,  until  Mrs.  Strong,  her  housekeeping  finished, 
was  able  to  begin  his  writing,  generally  soon  after 
eight.  Then  they  worked  till  nearly  noon,  when  the 
whole  household  met  for  the  first  time  at  a  substantial 
meal  of  two  or  three  courses  in  the  large  hall. 

Afterwards  there  would  be  talk,  or  reading  aloud,  or 
a  game  of  piquet;  a  bowl  of  kava  was  always  made 
early  in  the  afternoon,  and,  having  been  served  once, 
was  then  left  in  the  verandah.  When  Austin  Strong 
was  at  Vailima,  his  "  Uncle  Louis  "  would  at  sometime 
during  the  day  give  him  a  history  lesson,  and  also 
began  to  teach  him  French ;  for  the  boy's  education  was 
undertaken  by  the  household  at  large.  Later  in  the 
afternoon  there  might  follow  a  visit  to  Apia,  or  a  ride, 
or  a  stroll  into  the  woods  or  about  the  plantation,  or  a 
game  of  croquet  or  tennis,  until  close  upon  six  o'clock, 

1  Ptilotis  carunculata,  the  wattled  creeper. 
'43 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

when  the  dinner  was  served.  Then  followed  a  round 
game  at  cards,  or  reading,  or  talk  as  before,  or  music, 
if  there  were  any  visitor  in  the  house  able  to  play  the 
piano  or  sing,  for  in  the  end  Stevenson  had  altogether 
given  up  the  practice  of  his  flute.  Soon  after  eight  on 
an  ordinary  night  the  members  of  the  household  had 
generally  dispersed  to  their  rooms,  to  go  to  bed  at 
what  hour  they  chose.  The  master  of  the  house  used, 
I  think,  to  do  most  of  his  reading  at  these  times,  but 
usually  he  was  in  bed  soon  after  ten,  if  not  actually 
before. 

His  own  favourite  exercise  was  riding,  and  though 
for  the  dozen  years  before  he  came  to  the  Pacific  he  had 
probably  never  mounted  a  horse,  he  was  an  excellent 
rider.  His  light  weight  (I  doubt  if  he  ever  actually 
weighed  eight  stone)  served  him  in  good  stead,  and 
Jack,  the  Samoan-bred  pony  which  he  bought  in  1890, 
carried  him  well.  The  first  and  unflattering  mention 
describes  Jack  as  "a  very  plain  animal,  dark  brown, 
but  a  good  goer,  and  gentle,  except  for  a  habit  of  shy- 
ing and  sitting  down  on  his  tail,  if  he  sees  a  basket  in 
the  road,  or  even  a  bunch  of  bananas.  However,  he 
will  make  a  very  good  makeshift."  He  reigned  alone 
in  Stevenson's  affection,  and,  never  having  been 
mounted  since,  is  passing  a  peaceful  old  age  in  a  friend's 
paddock  in  Upolu. 

Except  on  the  roads  of  the  Neutral  Territory  and  in 
the  big  German  plantation,  the  ground  was  not  very 
suitable  for  horses,  and  a  dozen  miles  was  usually  the 
limit  of  an  afternoon's  excursion. 

I  have  called  this  the  ordinary  mode  of  life,  but  it  was 
subject  to  endless  variations.  If  Stevenson  were  in  a 

144 


VAILIMA-i89i-94 

hot  fit  of  work  with  a  story  just  begun  or  some  new 
episode  just  introduced,  he  could  do  nothing  and  think 
of  nothing  else,  and  toiled  all  day  long;  for  if  there 
were  no  interruptions  and  no  other  pressing  business, 
he  would  at  such  times  return  to  his  labours  for  all  the 
afternoon  and  evening.  On  the  other  hand,  if  he  were 
ailing  or  disinclined  for  writing,  he  would  stop  work 
some  time  before  luncheon.  But  almost  at  any  time  he 
was  at  the  mercy  of  visitors,  white  or  brown,  and  the 
matters  which  were  referred  to  him  for  advice  or  settle- 
ment were  endless.  Mr.  Osbourne  has  well  described 
them: — 

"  He  was  consulted  on  every  imaginable  subject: .  .  . 
Government  chiefs  and  rebels  consulted  him  with  regard 
to  policy;  political  letters  were  brought  to  him  to  read 
and  criticise ;  his  native  following  was  so  widely  divided 
in  party  that  he  was  often  kept  better  informed  on  cur- 
rent events  than  any  one  person  in  the  country.  Old 
gentlemen  would  arrive  in  stately  procession  with 
squealing  pigs  for  the  'chief-house  of  wisdom,'  and 
would  beg  advice  on  the  capitation  tax  or  some  such 
subject  of  the  hour;  an  armed  party  would  come  from 
across  the  island  with  gifts,  and  a  request  that  Tusitala 
would  take  charge  of  the  funds  of  the  village  and  buy 
the  roof-iron  for  a  proposed  church.  Parties  would 
come  to  hear  the  latest  news  of  the  proposed  disarming 
of  the  country,  or  to  arrange  a  private  audience  with 
one  of  the  officials ;  and  poor  war-worn  chieftains,  whose 
only  anxiety  was  to  join  the  winning  side,  and  who 
wished  to  consult  with  Tusitala  as  to  which  that  might 
be.  Mr.  Stevenson  would  sigh  sometimes  as  he  saw 
these  stately  folk  crossing  the  lawn  in  single  file,  their 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

attendants  following  behind  with  presents  and  baskets, 
but  he  never  failed  to  meet  or  hear  them."  l 

During  his  mother's  first  period  of  residence  at 
Vailima,  Stevenson  used  every  morning  at  eight  to  have 
prayers  at  which  the  whole  household  were  present.  A 
hymn  was  sung  in  Samoan  from  the  Mission  book,  a 
chapter  read  verse  by  verse  in  English,  and  two  or  three 
prayers  were  read  in  English,  ending  with  the  Lord's 
Prayer  in  Samoan.  But  it  was  impossible  to  assemble 
before  anybody  had  begun  work,  and  so  much  delay 
was  caused  by  summoning  the  household  from  their 
various  labours,  that  the  practice  was  reserved  in  the 
end  for  Sunday  evenings  only,  when  a  chapter  of  the 
Samoan  Bible  was  read,  Samoan  hymns  were  sung,  and 
a  prayer,  written  by  Stevenson  himself  for  the  purpose, 
was  offered  in  English,  concluding,  as  always,  with  the 
native  version  of  the  Lord's  Prayer. 2 

There  is  one  feature  in  Stevenson's  residence  in  Samoa 
which  has  probably  never  yet  been  mentioned,  and 
that  is  the  constancy  with  which  he  stayed  at  home  in 
Vailima.  After  his  visit  to  Tutuila  in  1891  I  know  of 
only  two  occasions  during  his  life  in  Upolu  —  the  two 
separate  nights  which  he  passed  at  Malie  —  when  he 
did  not  sleep  either  at  Apia  or  in  his  own  house.  This 
was  largely  a  precaution  for  the  sake  of  health,  since 
there  was  little  good  accommodation  outside  those  two 
places,  but  it  entirely  prevented  his  becoming  person- 
ally acquainted  with  many  interesting  spots  in  the 
islands  and  many  of  the  Samoans  whom  he  would  have 
been  glad  to  meet. 

1  Scribner's  Magazine,  p.  462,  October,  1895. 

*  Appendix  C,  Vailima  Prayers,  vol.  ii.  p.  232. 

146 


VAlLlMA-i89i-94 

Thus  he  never  crossed  the  central  range  of  his  own 
island,  the  track  over  which  passed  near  his  house;  he 
never  visited  Lanuto'o,  the  crater  lake,  set  in  the  midst 
of  the  forest  among  the  hills,  only  a  dozen  miles  away, 
or  the  stone  circle  known  as  "The  House  of  the  Cuttle- 
fish "  in  a  neighbouring  glen,  the  crater  islet  of  Apolima, 
or  (to  cut  short  my  list)  even  any  of  the  lovely  villages 
along  the  south-western  shore. 

Now  and  again,  for  some  special  reason,  generally 
connected  with  the  arrival  of  the  mail-steamer,  he 
would  sleep  in  Apia,  but  on  all  ordinary  occasions  he 
preferred  to  return  home.  At  these  times  he  liked  the 
lamps  left  burning  in  his  absence,  that  he  might  ride  up 
the  dark  road  and  out  into  the  solitary  and  silent  woods, 
there  to  find  the  house  lighted  up  to  welcome  his 
return  even  at  the  dead  of  night. 

At  Vailima  visitors  were  always  coming  and  going. 
All  white  residents  who  chose  to  appear  were  made 
welcome.  The  American  Chief-Justice  Ide  and  his 
family;  Herr  Schmidt,  the  President ;  the  Consuls;  the 
Land  Commissioners,  especially  his  friend  Bazett  Hag- 
gard; the  Independent  and  Wesleyan  missionaries;  the 
French  Bishop,  the  priests  and  sisters;  the  doctor,  the 
magistrate,  the  postmaster,  the  surveyor ;  the  managers 
of  firms  and  their  employes,  English  or  German ;  and 
traders  from  all  parts  of  the  islands :  such  were  some  of 
the  residents  who  might  arrive  at  any  time.  To  them 
might  be  added  passing  visitors,  spending  a  week  or 
two  in  Samoa  between  two  steamers,  or  remaining 
several  months  to  see  the  islands  more  thoroughly. 
The  latter,  if  not  actually  staying  in  the  house,  were  yet 
sure  to  be  frequently  invited  to  Vailima.  Mr.  Barrie 

•47 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

and  Mr.  Kipling,  to  their  own  bitter  regret,  too  long 
deferred  the  visits  for  which  their  host  was  so  eager; 
but  of  those  who  came,  the  Countess  of  Jersey,  Mr.  La 
Farge  the  artist,  and  Mr.  Henry  Adams  the  historian 
are  the  most  familiar  names. 

And  perhaps  most  frequent  and  certainly  not  least 
welcome  were  the  officers  and  men  of  the  warships, 
of  which  Apia  saw  only  too  many  for  her  peace  in 
those  troubled  days.  The  Germans  toiled  but  seldom 
up  the  hill,  the  American  vessels  came  rarely  to  the 
islands;  but  in  the  four  years  of  Stevenson's  residence 
at  least  eight  British  men-of-war  entered  the  harbour, 
and  one  —  his  favourite  Cura$oa — not  only  came  most 
frequently,  but  stayed  the  longest,  spending  in  the 
group  seven  out  of  the  last  eight  months  of  his  life. 
The  experience  which  I  think  gave  him  more  pleasure 
than  any  other  in  that  time  was  his  visit  as  a  guest  in 
the  Curafoa  to  the  outlying  islets  of  Manu'a,  which  he 
had  in  vain  tried  to  reach  three  years  before  with  Mr. 
Sewall. 

In  wardroom  and  gunroom  were,  of  course,  closer 
friends  than  others,  but  I  think  there  was  not  an  officer 
in  the  ship,  from  the  captain  to  the  youngest  midship- 
man, who  was  not  definitely  a  friend.  The  most  inti- 
mate were  perhaps  Dr.  Hoskyns,  Hugo  Worthington, 
the  marine  officer,  Lieutenant  (now  Commander)  Eeles; 
but  the  road  from  Apia  became  known  as  the  "  Curagoa 
track,"  and  if  any  one  of  the  officers  was  placed  upon 
the  sick-list,  he  was  speedily  invited  to  stay  in  the 
house  and  try  the  effect  of  the  climate  of  Vailima. 
With  the  men  also,  petty  officers,  bluejackets,  and 
marines,  Stevenson's  relations  were  of  the  happiest. 

148 


VAILIMA-I89I-94 

"  A  most  interesting  lot  of  men,"  he  wrote  of  another 
ship;  "this  education  of  boys  for  the  navy  is  making 
a  class,  wholly  apart — how  shall  I  call  them  ? — a  kind 
of  lower-class  public-school  boy,  well-mannered,  fairly 
intelligent,  sentimental  as  a  sailor." 

He  had  doubted  at  Honolulu  if  the  navies  of  the  world 
held  such  another  ship  as  the  Cormorant,  and  the  answer 
came  to  his  door. 

There  was  also  the  merchant  service:  the  captains 
and  officers  of  the  mail-steamers,  both  of  the  San  Fran- 
cisco vessels  and  the  local  New  Zealand  boats. 
"Captain  Smith  of  the  Tamuni,"  as  Mr.  Osbourne  re- 
minds me,  "once  paid  a  visit  to  Vailima  with  some 
friends.  On  his  road  home  he  passed  the  Ala  Loto 
Alofa,  on  which  the  chiefs  were  then  working  like 
good  fellows.  He  asked  —  and  was  told  —  the  reason 
of  their  task;  and  the  bluff,  hearty  old  seaman  at  once 
insisted  in  getting  off  his  horse  and  felling  one  of  the 
trees  himself.  '/  must  be  in  that,  too,'  he  said,  with 
a  genuine  emotion;  and  spent  half  an  hour  swinging  an 
axe." 

Other  and  stranger  visitors  would  turn  up  from  the 
various  islands  which  the  family  had  visited.  As 
Stevenson  wrote  to  Mr.  Barrie:  "Another  thing  you 
must  be  prepared  for  —  and  that  is  the  arrival  of  strange 
old  shell-back  guests  out  of  every  quarter  of  the  island 
world,  their  mouths  full  of  oaths  for  which  they  will 
punctiliously  apologise;  their  clothes  unmistakably  pur- 
chased in  a  trade-room,  each  probably  followed  by  a 
dusky  bride.  These  you  are  to  expect  to  see  hailed 
with  acclamation  and  dragged  in  as  though  they  were 
dukes  and  duchesses.  For  though  we  may  be  out  of 

149 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

touch  with  'God  knows  what,'  we  are  determined  to 
keep  in  touch  with  appearances  and  the  Marquesas." 

The  bust  of  old  Robert  Stevenson,  looking  down 
upon  the  hall,  must  have  been  reminded  again  and 
again  of  the  breakfasts  in  Baxter's  Place,  and  his  "broad- 
spoken,  home-spun  officers."1 

The  departure  of  one  of  these  old  traders  was  most 
characteristic,  and  would  hardly,  I  think,  occur  in  just 
the  same  way  outside  the  South  Seas.  He  had  come 
from  his  island ;  he  had  made  his  way  to  Vailima  and 
renewed  his  friendship;  he  had  enjoyed  himself  and 
received  such  kindness  and  consideration  as  perhaps 
he  did  not  often  get.  When  he  rose  to  take  his  leave, 
"Now  don't  you  move,"  he  said,  "don't  one  of  you 
move.  Just  let  me  take  a  last  look  of  you  all  sitting 
there  on  that  verandah,  and  I  shall  have  that  always  to 
think  of,  when  I  'm  away." 

It  was  Stevenson's  intimate  knowledge  of  this  class 
which  made  him  particularly  anxious  to  heal  as  far  as 
possible  the  unnecessary  division  between  them  and  the 
missionaries.  On  this  point  he  particularly  insisted  in 
an  address  delivered  in  Sydney  in  1893.2  That  paper 
does  not  relate  exclusively  to  Samoa ;  on  the  contrary, 
there  is  much  of  it  which  was  applicable  only  else- 
where; but  it  is  the  general  conclusion  of  Stevenson's 
experiences  of  British  Protestant  missions  in  the  Pacific, 
and  one  of  the  wisest  and  most  valuable  utterances 
upon  the  whole  subject.3 

His  personal  relations  with  the  Protestant  missiona- 
ries in  Samoa  were  most  pleasant.  He  was  a  loyal  and 

1  Vide  vol.  i.  p.  10.  2  Appendix  B. 

3  Compare  especially  Letters,  ii.  340. 
150 


VAILIMA- 1891-94 

generous  friend  to  every  man  and  woman  among 
them,  told  them  quite  plainly  whenever  he  disagreed 
with  them  or  disapproved  of  their  line  of  conduct,  and 
was  a  most  stimulating  and  liberal  influence  on  their 
work.  It  is  almost  invidious  to  single  out  names,  but 
the  Rev.  W.  E.  Clarke  and  his  wife  were  his  closest  and 
most  thorough-going  friends  among  the  residents. 
Outside  Samoa,  the  Rev.  George  Brown,  the  Rev.  F.  E. 
Lawes  of  Savage  Island,  and  the  Rev.  F.  Damon  of 
Honolulu  held  high  places  in  his  affection  and  regard; 
but  for  Mr.  Chalmers,1  "Tamate"  of  New  Guinea,  he 
felt  a  kind  of  hero-worship,  a  greater  admiration  prob- 
ably than  he  felt  for  any  man  of  modern  times  except 
Charles  Gordon. 

His  appreciation  of  the  Mission  he  showed  not  only 
by  giving  his  influence  and  his  money,  but  also  by 
offering  his  services  to  take  a  Bible-class  of  young  half- 
caste  lads  on  Sunday  afternoons.  Nothing  was  more 
irksome  to  him  than  a  periodical  engagement.  The 
boys,  it  is  gathered,  were  quite  impenetrable,  and  the 
process  was  that  of  cutting  blocks  with  a  razor;  but  for 
several  months  Stevenson  held  firmly  to  his  under- 
taking, and  in  the  end  it  was  dropped  only  from  some 
urgent  external  cause,  and  never  resumed. 

With  the  Catholics  Stevenson  was  on  equally  pleasant 
but  quite  different  terms.  His  interest  in  Molokai, 
even  apart  from  Father  Damien,  always  made  his  heart 
warm  towards  the  priests  and  Catholic  sisters ;  the  acci- 
dental circumstance  that  all  his  best  boys  at  Vailima 

1  The  Rev.  Dr.  James  Chalmers  was  killed  at  the  Aird  River  in  New 
Guinea,  in  April,  1901 ,  as  he  was  endeavouring  to  make  peace  between 
the  natives  who  were  engaged  in  a  tribal  war. 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

belonged  to  the  Church  of  Rome  strengthened  the  con- 
nection. For  the  Bishop  he  had  a  real  appreciation: 
"a  superior  man,  much  above  the  average  of  priests"; 
"Monseigneur  is  not  unimposing;  with  his  white 
beard  and  his  violet  girdle  he  looks  splendidly  epis- 
copal, and  when  our  three  waiting  lads  came  one  after 
another  and  kneeled  before  him  in  the  big  hall,  and 
kissed  his  ring,  it  did  me  good  fora  piece  of  pageantry." 

Of  the  spiritual  merits  of  their  work  he  was  of  course 
in  no  position  to  judge;  but  he  always  had  a  special 
admiration  for  the  way  in  which  they  identified  them- 
selves with  the  natives  and  encouraged  all  native  habits 
and  traditions  at  all  compatible  with  Christianity.  Above 
all  things  he  welcomed  the  fact  that  the  influence  of 
the  chiefs  was  increased  instead  of  weakened  by  their 
efforts.  He  agreed  with  them  that  it  was  better  to 
concentrate  their  forces  on  people  of  rank  than  to  im- 
pose such  a  democracy  as  that  of  some  of  the  Protestant 
societies,  for  he  felt  that  the  salvation  of  Samoa  lay  in 
the  chiefs,  and  that  it  was  unfortunate  that  all  white 
influence  except  that  of  the  Catholics  was  in  the  line  of 
diminishing  their  authority. 

Thus  the  priests  and  the  sisters  from  the  Savalalo 
convent  were  always  welcome  guests,  and  not  the  less 
from  the  fact  that  French  was  the  usual  medium  of 
intercourse. 

Besides  open  house  at  Vailima,  there  also  were  many 
special  entertainments,  both  those  given  in  the  house, 
and  those  shared  with  others  or  given  by  them  in  return 
in  Apia.  In  addition  to  ordinary  lunches  or  dinners,  it 
was  Stevenson's  greatest  delight  to  organise  any  fes- 
tivity in  which  the  natives  could  have  a  share,  the 

152 


VAILIMA-i89i-94 

entertainment  of  a  man-of-war's  band,  a  feast  on  the 
completion  of  a  Samoan  house,  or,  above  all,  the  great 
banquet  given  in  native  fashion  to  celebrate  his  own 
birthday.  In  Apia  public  balls  were  not  infrequent; 
Stevenson  became  a  willing  pupil  in  the  hands  of  his 
stepdaughter,  and  thenceforward  took  his  part  in  the 
dances  with  delight. 

But  the  balls  in  themselves  deserve  a  passing  word, 
for  nowhere,  since  the  world  began,  can  the  juxta- 
position of  incongruous  elements  have  reached  so  high 
a  point.  Almost  every  one  in  Apia,  without  regard 
for  social  station,  was  invited,  and  all  were  welcome. 
Diplomatists  and  naval  officers,  traders  and  bar-keepers, 
clerks  and  mechanics,  all  came;  and  the  residents 
brought  their  wives  and  daughters,  white,  half-caste, 
or  whole  Polynesian.  On  one  point  only  was  etiquette 
inexorable  —  no  Samoan  man  could  hope  for  admission 
unless  some  elderly  and  august  chief  were  introduced  as 
a  spectator.  But  invitations  were  issued  to  such  native 
girls  as  could  dance  and  were  otherwise  suitable,  and 
the  "maid  of  a  village"  might  frequently  there  be 
seen,  dancing  away  in  a  native  dress  even  more  elabo- 
rate and  scanty  than  those  of  her  white  sisters.  And 
not  only  was  social  exclusiveness  waived,  but  hostili- 
ties, public  and  private,  were  suspended  at  these 
remarkable  entertainments.  One  night  Stevenson  found 
himself  vis-d-vts  with  Chief-Justice  Cedercrantz  in  a 
square  dance,  at  a  time  when  either  was  eagerly  com- 
passing the  removal  of  the  other  from  the  island. 
"We  dance  here  in  Apia,"  he  wrote,  "a  most  fearful 
and  wonderful  quadrille;  I  don't  know  where  the  devil 
they  fished  it  from,  but  it  is  rackety  and  prancing  and 

153 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

embraceatory  beyond  words;  perhaps  it  is  best  defined 
in  Haggard's  expression  of  a  gambado."1  And  of  his 
rival:  "We  exchanged  a  glance  and  then  a  grin;  the 
man  took  me  in  his  confidence ;  and  through  the  remain- 
der of  that  prance,  we  pranced  for  each  other." 

Another  time,  during  the  fiercest  moments  of  Anglo- 
German  animosity,  Mr.  Osbourne,  by  the  adroit  use  of 
a  bow  and  arrow,  secured  the  hand  of  the  German 
Consul's  wife  for  a  cotillon;  and  at  a  Fourth  of  July 
dance  given  by  the  American  Vice-Consul,  all  that  gen- 
tleman's enemies  might  have  been  seen  joining  hands 
and  dancing  round  him,  while  they  sang,  "  For  he  's  a 
jolly  good  fellow."  One  ineffable  family  indeed  carried 
out  the  rules  of  the  game  with  so  much  rigour  as  to 
accept  partners  with  whom  they  were  not  on  speaking 
terms,  and  then  to  dance  and  speak  not  a  word.  But 
for  the  most  part  people  entered  readily  into  the  spirit 
of  the  thing,  and  ill-will  was  left  outside,  while  not 
only  the  lion  and  the  lamb  but  the  rival  beasts  of  prey 
all  frolicked  happily  together. 

There  is  one  difficulty  to  which  I  have  not  yet  alluded 
— the  question  of  language.  Stevenson  had,  as  he 
wrote,  on  entering  the  Pacific,  "journeyed  out  of  that 
comfortable  zone  of  kindred  languages,  where  the  curse 
of  Babel  is  so  easy  to  be  remedied,"  but  the  obstacle 
proved  much  less  than  he  had  anticipated.  It  is  true 
that  in  Samoa  few  of  the  natives  speak  or  really  under- 
stand anything  but  their  own  tongue,  but  except  for 
the  fact  that  this  has  no  analogies  with  any  European 
speech,  it  is  not  very  difficult  to  acquire  for  practical 
purposes.  To  it  he  soon  addressed  himself,  and  over 

1  Vailima  Letters,  1 3th  September,  1892. 
'54 


VAIL1MA- 1891-94 

the  study  of  Samoan  he  spent  a  good  deal  of  pains, 
even  taking  regular  lessons  from  the  Rev.  S.  J.  Whitmee 
of  the  London  Mission,  the  best  Samoan  scholar  in  the 
islands.  His  story  of  The  Bottle  Imp  was  translated  by 
another  member  of  the  Mission  for  their  magazine 
almost  as  soon  as  it  was  written,  and  has  the  unique 
distinction  of  having  been  published  in  Samoan  before 
it  appeared  in  English.  Stevenson  himself  began  as  an 
exercise  with  his  teacher  to  write  in  Samoan  a  story  of 
Saxon  times  called  Eatuina  (Edwin),  but  only  a  few 
chapters  were  completed. 

In  Samoan  there  is  a  special  vocabulary  for  addressing 
or  mentioning  high  chiefs,  which  is  naturally  used  on  all 
solemn  occasions  and  in  all  important  correspondence. 
Stevenson  mastered  this  sufficiently  to  understand  it 
when  it  was  spoken  well,  and  not  only  to  be  able  to 
write  it  with  facility,  but  even  to  satisfy  his  own  fas- 
tidious requirements  in  composing  letters.  The  every- 
day speech  he  used  for  all  household  purposes,  and 
could  understand  it  himself  without  difficulty.  But 
when  there  came  a  voluble  rustic  from  a  remote  district, 
some  small  chief  perhaps,  who  sat  and  "barked,"  as  his 
unfortunate  hearer  said,  in  either  dialect  about  matters 
beyond  Tusitala's  ken,  the  result  was  confusion.  In  mat- 
ters of  importance,  where  it  was  of  the  highest  urgency 
that  Stevenson  should  not  be  misunderstood,  a  good  and 
really  trustworthy  interpreter  was  hardly  to  be  procured 
outside  the  Mission,  and  from  anything  approaching 
politics  the  missionaries  for  the  most  part  wisely  held 
aloof.  But  this  difficulty  was  gradually  solved  by  Mr. 
Osbourne,  who  learned  both  usages  very  thoroughly, 
and  spoke  them  in  the  end  with  fluency  and  ease. 

•55 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

There  are  few  matters  in  which  English  readers  have 
taken  less  interest  than  the  political  history  of  Samoa, 
even  when  it  was  written  by  Stevenson  himself.  Never- 
theless, if  I  were  to  omit  all  reference  to  these  affairs  and 
the  criticisms  which  Stevenson  passed  upon  them,  it 
would  be  supposed  that  I  was  letting  judgment  go 
against  him  by  default.  I  propose  therefore  to  give  the 
briefest  possible  description  of  the  government  as  it 
was  from  1889  to  1894,  relegating  to  the  Appendix  l 
a  brief  summary  of  the  details,  and  the  evidence  for 
my  assertions.  Those  who  wish  to  find  the  matter 
treated  most  brilliantly,  but  at  greater  length,  will  find 
it  in  A  Foot-note  to  History  and  Stevenson's  letters  to 
the  Times, 

Throughout  his  residence  in  Samoa,  the  government 
of  the  islands  was  controlled  by  a  Treaty  entered  into  at 
Berlin  in  1889  between  America,  England,  and  Germany. 
Under  this  the  native  king  was  recognised  by  these 
three  Great  Powers,  by  whom  two  new  white  officials 
were  also  appointed  —  a  Chief-Justice,  receiving  .£1200 
a  year  out  of  the  Samoan  treasury,  and  a  President  of 
the  Municipal  Council,  who  was  to  be  paid  ^"1000  a 
year  by  the  Municipality  and  also  act  as  adviser  to  the 
king.  The  Neutral  Territory  of  the  Municipality  of  Apia, 
in  which  most  of  the  white  population  resided,  was 
managed  by  a  Council  of  six  residents  elected  by  the 
ratepayers,  with  the  President  as  Chairman.  A  Land 
Commission  of  three  representatives,  one  appointed  by 
each  of  the  three  Powers,  was  to  investigate  all  equi- 
table claims  of  foreigners  to  the  ownership  of  land  in 
Samoa,  and  after  the  registration  of  such  titles  as  were 

1  Appendix  D,  vol.  ii.  p.  237. 
156 


VAILIMA- 1891-94 

valid,  none  but  a  native  might  acquire  the  freehold  of 
any  part  of  Samoan  territory. 

The  American  and  German  Consuls-General  and  the 
British  Consul  retained  their  jurisdiction,  and  pre- 
served much  of  the  prestige  they  had  enjoyed  in  the 
days  before  the  Berlin  Treaty,  when  the  Consular  Board 
had  been  the  chief  controlling  power  in  Samoa.  The 
British  Consul  also,  as  a  Deputy  Commissioner  for  the 
Western  Pacific,  had  very  despotic  powers  over  all  Brit- 
ish subjects  under  the  Orders  in  Council  issued  under 
the  Pacific  Islanders'  Protection  Act  of  1875. 

The  principal  white  officials  in  Samoa  were  thus : — 

The  Chief-Justice. 

The  President  of  the  Municipal  Council. 

The  Three  Consuls. 

The  Three  Land  Commissioners. 

It  is  impossible  to  say  whether  the  system  thus 
founded  could  ever  have  worked  satisfactorily  among  so 
many  contending  interests  and  at  so  great  a  distance 
from  the  paramount  Governments,  seated  as  these  were 
at  Berlin,  London,  and  Washington,  even  if  two  com- 
petent Treaty  officials  possessed  of  experience  and  com- 
mon sense  had  been  promptly  sent  out  to  the  scene  of 
their  duties.  But  there  was  undue  delay,  the  wrong 
men  were  chosen,  and  the  system  was  doomed. 

The  Chief-Justiceship  was,  failing  the  unanimous 
choice  of  the  three  Powers,  given  by  the  King  of  Swe- 
den to  a  Swedish  Assistant-Judge,  Mr.  Conrad  Ceder- 
crantz,  while  Baron  Senfft  von  Pilsach,  a  German 
Regierungs-Assessor,  was  appointed  by  the  Powers  to 
be  President  of  the  Municipal  Council. 

«57 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

For  more  than  two  years  the  pair  drew  their  salaries 
and  discharged  what  they  conceived  to  be  their  duties 
in  a  fashion  which  is  perfectly  incredible  until  it  is 
studied  by  the  "  cold  light  of  consular  reports."  Ste- 
venson was  finally  kindled  to  indignation  by  the  out- 
rage of  the  dynamite — a  proposal  to  blow  up  some 
Samoan  chiefs  imprisoned  for  a  political  offence  of  no 
great  gravity,  if  any  attempt  were  made  by  their  people 
to  rescue  them  from  jail.  He  wrote  to  the  Times  a 
series  of  letters  which  at  first  were  generally  disbelieved, 
but  were  afterwards  confirmed  in  every  important  detail 
that  was  made  known.  It  was  a  real  bitterness  to  him 
to  see  fading  away  before  his  eyes  perhaps  the  last  op- 
portunity for  the  restoration  of  order  and  prosperity  to 
Samoa,  as  the  natives  watched  the  gambadoes  of  this 
extraordinary  couple  and  the  second-rate  diplomacy  or 
tardy  and  futile  action  of  the  three  Great  Powers. 

The  fight  was  keen,  for  the  two  Treaty  officials  did 
their  best,  as  Stevenson  believed,  to  have  him  deported; 
but  the  end  was  certain,  whether  it  was  due  to  the  di- 
plomatists or  the  Times,  and  the  pair  departed  for  other 
scenes  of  activity.  But  the  evil  had  been  done,  and 
such  opportunity  as  their  successors  had  was  frustrated 
by  the  arbitrary  and  vacillating  interference  of  the  con- 
suls. On  this  subject  Stevenson  wrote  three  more 
letters  dealing  with  the  outrages  which  went  on  under 
the  very  noses  of  the  consuls  and  the  guns  of  the  war- 
ships, with  the  weakness  and  the  favouritism  of  the 
Government  and  the  farce  of  disarming.  But  every- 
thing showed  that  the  failure  of  the  Berlin  Treaty  was 
complete,  and  that  the  only  chance  for  Samoa  was  to 
abolish  the  triple  control. 

158 


VAILIMA- 1891-94 

Stevenson  took  the  chair  at  one  public  meeting  in 
Apia,  and  apart  from  this  his  local  interference  in 
politics  was  limited  to  a  few  formal  visits  to  native 
chiefs.1  Once,  however,  by  an  accident  it  nearly  took 
the  most  startling  form  of  intervention  possible.  The 
king  was  all  but  shot  dead  in  the  large  hall  at  Vailima 
by  Mrs.  Stevenson  in  her  husband's  presence.  Sud- 
denly one  day  in  1894  Malietoa  came  up  without  warn- 
ing to  pay  a  secret  visit  of  reconciliation  to  Tusitala, 
attended  only  by  a  black-boy  interpreter.  In  the  course 
of  the  visit  he  happened  to  mention  his  wish  for  a 
revolver;  Stevenson  immediately  went  to  the  big  safe 
in  the  corner  of  the  room  and  produced  one  which  he 
emptied  of  the  cartridges  and  handed  to  his  wife.  Mrs. 
Stevenson  found  that  there  was  something  wrong  with 
the  trigger  and  tried  it  several  times.  Four  times  it 
clicked,  the  king  leaned  over  in  front  to  examine  it,  and 
then  some  unaccountable  impulse  made  her  inspect  the 
pistol  again.  In  the  next  chamber  lay  a  cartridge  which 
would  inevitably  have  sent  its  charge  into  the  king's 
brain.  The  smile  and  wave  of  the  hand  with  which 
Malietoa  greeted  and  dismissed  the  discovery  were 
worthy  of  a  stronger  monarch  and  of  a  far  greater  king- 
dom. Had  the  bullet  gone  to  its  mark,  it  is  idle  to 
speculate  on  what  would  have  happened,  but  it  is  clear 
at  any  rate  that  Stevenson  could  no  longer  have  found 
a  home  in  Samoa. 

On  most  occasions  he  confined  himself  to  giving  his 
advice  when  it  was  asked,  or  when  he  saw  any  reason- 
able chance  of  its  being  accepted.  I  need  hardly  say 
that  he  never  contributed  one  farthing  or  one  farthing's 

1  Appendix  D,  vol.  ii.  p.  242. 
»59 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

worth  towards  any  arming  or  provisioning  of  the  natives, 
nor  did  he  ever  take  any  step  or  give  any  counsel  or 
hint  whatsoever  that  could  possibly  have  increased  the 
danger  of  war  or  diminished  the  hopes  of  a  peaceful 
settlement. 

If  he  had  been  asked  what  concern  he  had  in  the 
affairs  of  Samoa,  or  why  he  did  not  leave  them  in  the 
hands  of  the  consuls  whose  business  they  were,  he 
would  probably  have  answered  that  it  was  his  business 
to  vindicate  the  truth  and  to  check  misgovernment  and 
oppression  wherever  he  found  them ;  that  he  had  good 
reason  to  distrust  the  consuls;  that  Samoa  was  a  remote 
spot  where  public  opinion  was  helpless;  and  that  the 
trustworthy  means  of  publishing  the  real  state  of  its 
affairs  to  the  civilised  world  were  few.  And  in  support 
of  this  he  would  have  instanced  the  case  of  the  dyna- 
mite, the  very  name  of  which  has  been  suppressed  in 
all  the  blue-books  and  white-books  of  the  three  Powers; 
and  the  fact  that  the  only  newspaper  in  the  island  had 
been  secretly  purchased  with  the  public  money,  print- 
ing-press, type  and  all,  for  the  benefit  of  his  opponents. 
Finally,  that  which  he  would  never  have  pleaded  for 
his  own  advantage  may  be  urged  for  him  in  a  disin- 
terested sense:  he  had  adopted  Samoa  as  his  country, 
and  her  enemies  were  his  enemies,  and  he  made  her 
cause  his  own.  It  is  difficult  for  people  reading  their 
newspapers  at  home  to  realise  the  entire  difference  of 
circumstances  and  conduct,  and  I  freely  confess  that 
until  I  arrived  in  Samoa  and  saw  the  conditions  for 
myself,  I  favoured  the  easier  course  of  laisse^  faire. 

It  would  give  a  false  impression,  however,  if  I  neg- 
lected to  mention  the  excitement  of  politics,  which  in 

160 


VAILIMA-i89i-94 

Europe  is  denied  to  all  but  the  few  diplomatists  behind 
the  scenes.  In  Apia  every  one  knew  the  chief  per- 
sons involved,  both  white  and  Samoan,  and  knew  all, 
and  much  more  than  all,  that  was  passing  between 
them.  As  a  young  Irishman  quoted  by  Stevenson  said : 
"  I  never  saw  so  good  a  place  as  this  Apia;  you  can  be 
in  a  new  conspiracy  every  day."  And  to  Stevenson 
himself  at  first  the  interest  was  absorbing:  "  You  don't 
know  what  news  is,  nor  what  politics,  nor  what  the 
life  of  man,  till  you  see  it  on  so  small  a  scale  and  with 
your  liberty  on  the  board  for  stake. " l  But  so  futile  and 
so  harassing  were  these  concerns,  that  before  long  he 
was  glad  to  leave  them  on  one  side  as  far  as  he  could, 
and  devote  himself  once  more  to  literature.  He  soon 
found  politics  "the  dirtiest,  the  most  foolish,  and  the 
most  random  of  human  employments":  2  and  for  the 
diplomatists— "You  know  what  a  French  post-office 
or  railway  official  is  ?  That  is  the  diplomatic  card  to  the 
life.  Dickens  is  not  in  it;  caricature  fails."  3 

Of  the  exact  amount  of  influence  that  Stevenson  pos- 
sessed with  the  natives,  it  is  hard  to  speak  with  any 
certainty.  From  what  I  have  said  of  his  stationary  life 
it  will  be  evident  that  there  were  many  Samoans  who 
had  no  opportunity  of  coming  into  contact  with  him  at 
all;  but  in  spite  of  this  drawback  his  prestige  and  au- 
thority were  gradually  spreading,  and  his  kindness  and 
fidelity  in  misfortune  produced  a  real  effect  upon  the 
native  mind.  His  influence  was  probably  as  great  as 
that  of  any  white  resident  in  the  islands,  with  the  pos- 
sible exception  of  two  or  three  who  had  married  native 
wives.  But  this,  after  all,  did  not  amount  to  very 
1  Letters,  ii.  276.  2  Ibid.,  295.  3  Ibid.,  334. 

u  »6i 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

much;  the  Samoans,  in  common  with  other  native 
races  who  have  not  been  too  well  treated  by  the  whites, 
have  learned  to  protect  themselves  by  an  armour  of  re- 
serve and  diplomacy,  and  they  seldom  accepted  any 
foreigner's  advice  unless  it  recommended  to  them  the 
course  which  they  were  already  disposed  to  follow.  As 
Mr.  Whitmee,  who  knew  the  islands  well,  said: 
"  There  have  been  paragraphs  in  British  papers  repre- 
senting Mr.  Stevenson  as  being  something  like  a  king 
in  Samoa.  I  believe  I  have  seen  it  stated  that  he  might 
have  been  king  of  the  islands  had  he  wished.  That 
was  simple  nonsense."  (And,  I  may  add,  nonsense 
which  irritated  Stevenson  more  than  almost  any  other 
idle  rumour.)  "But  he  was  respected  by  the  natives 
as  a  whole,  and  by  many  he  was  beloved." 

His  work  was  given  at  first  entirely  to  the  "letters" 
which  were  constructed  out  of  the  notes  and  journals 
of  his  voyages,  and  were  themselves  in  turn  the  rough 
material  of  which  he  intended  to  compose  his  great  book 
on  the  South  Seas.  "To  get  this  stuff  jointed  and  mov- 
ing "  was  his  first  aim,  but  never  did  he  labour  to  so 
little  purpose.  Some  seventy  "letters"  in  all  were 
written,  and  his  contract  with  Messrs.  M'Clure  was 
fulfilled;  but  the  strain  of  production  was  excessive, 
and  the  result  satisfied  neither  the  author  nor  the  public. 
The  "bargain  was  quite  unsuitable  to  his  methods," 
for  one  thing; 1  for  another,  the  material  was  unlimited 
and  his  knowledge  was  always  increasing.  Instead  of 
the  entertaining  book  of  travels,  full  of  personal  interest 
and  excitement,  and  abounding  in  picturesque  descrip- 

1  Vailima  Letters,  p.  55. 
162 


VAlLIMA-i89i-94 

tions  of  the  scenery  and  manners  of  the  South  Seas,  for 
which  his  readers  so  eagerly  looked,  they  found  a  series 
of  disconnected  chapters  on  native  beliefs  with  all  or 
nearly  all  the  sense  of  adventure  left  out,  and  but  scanty 
information  as  to  the  details  of  travel  upon  which  the 
public  so  dearly  loves  to  be  informed.  That  the  Voyage 
in  the  Sunbeam  should  be  a  popular  work  and  Steven- 
son's South  Sea  letters  a  failure  is  one  of  the  tragedies  of 
literature,  but  if  any  one  will  compare  the  letters  from 
the  Paumotus  with  the  letter  to  R.  A.  M.  Stevenson,1 
he  will  see  that  it  was  due  to  Stevenson's  deliberate 
judgment,  which  in  this  instance  for  once  was  entirely 
mistaken.  The  experience  he  enjoyed  most — the  visit 
to  Tahiti — remained  unwritten;  the  part  which  the 
public  awaited  perhaps  with  most  interest — the  visit 
to  Molokai — was  not  seriously  attempted;  and  by  the 
time  the  best  letters  were  reached,  those  in  which  he 
describes  his  unique  experiences  in  Apemama,  his  read- 
ers had  lost  heart;  and  indeed  I  believe  the  Tembinok' 
chapters  never  appeared  in  England  at  all.  Thus  he 
was  well  advised  when  in  June,  1891,  he  abandoned 
the  task,  and  cast  ab.out  for  some  fresh  work  to  take 
in  hand. 

First,  for  the  sake  of  change,  he  began  the  history  of 
his  family,  which  he  had  contemplated  for  some  time 
as  the  frame  in  which  to  include  the  long-projected 
memorial  of  his  father.  The  greater  part  of  his  grand- 
father's life  was  ultimately  finished,  and  now  forms  the 
Family  of  Engineers.  He  did  not  even  begin  the 
account  of  his  uncle  Alan,  the  builder  of  Skerryvore 
lighthouse,  a  man  of  extraordinary  ability,  who  retired 

1  Letters,  ii.  135. 
165 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

from  practice  at  an  early  age;  and  his  father's  life,  ex- 
cept for  the  sketch  of  his  boyhood  already  quoted,  was 
likewise  untouched.  For  the  present  little  more  than 
Chapter  I.  was  written,  and  the  book  was  taken  up 
from  time  to  time  only  as  a  relaxation  from  creative 
work. 

The  Wrecker,  which  had  been  left  half  finished  since 
a  month  after  his  arrival  in  Samoa,  was  now  taken  in 
hand  again  on  the  return  of  his  collaborator,  and  carried 
to  a  conclusion.  It  was  written  on  the  same  plan  as 
before,  the  first  drafts  of  the  San  Francisco  parts  being 
written  by  Mr.  Osbourne,  who  had  no  hand  at  all  in 
the  Paris  days,  or  the  scene  at  Barbizon.1  The  book 
perhaps  appealed  to  too  many  interests  to  receive  its 
due  from  any  one  class  of  readers.  The  following 
letter  from  the  late  Lord  Pembroke  is  a  testimonial  to 
its  accuracy,  coming  from  one  of  the  authors  of  South 
Sea  Bubbles,  who  have  done  more  almost  than  any  one 
to  make  the  Pacific  familiar  ground  to  the  English 
reader: — 

"I  am  afraid  only  a  small  minority  in  England  can 
be  really  capable  of  appreciating  The  Wrecker.  The 
majority  don't  know  enough  of  the  real  big  World  to 
know  how  true  it  is,  and  they  will  infinitely  prefer  that 
most  delightful  story,  Treasure  Island.  Perhaps  it  is 
a  better  story  than  The  Wrecker,  but  to  me  there  is  the 
difference  that  Treasure  Island  might  have  been  written 
by  a  man  who  had  no  knowledge  of  such  matters  but 
what  he  had  got  from  books  and  a  powerful  imagina- 
tion, while  The  Wrecker  has  the  indefinite  smack  of 
reality,  of  real  knowledge  of  what  men  and  ships  do  in 

1  Letters,  ii.  356. 
164 


VA1LIMA-I891-94 

that  wild  and  beautiful  world  beyond  the  American 
continent. " 

In  the  meantime  Stevenson's  expeditions  into  the 
solitudes  of  the  forest  above  his  home  led  not  only  to 
the  set  of  verses  called  The  Woodman,  written,  as  he 
says  most  of  his  verses  were,1  "at  the  autumnal 
equinox,"  but  also  to  the  beginning  of  the  story  which 
at  first,  as  The  High  Woods  of  Ulufanua,  turned  on  a 
supernatural  element,  and  then  came  down  to  earth  in 
its  final  form  as  The  Beach  of  Falesd.  To  the  style  of 
this  admirable  story  justice  has  been  done  by  Professor 
Raleigh,2  doubtless  to  the  entire  bewilderment  of  those 
people  who  could  see  nothing  in  it  but  a  farrago  of 
slang;  but  the  astonishing  merits  of  the  tale  and  its  set- 
ting can  hardly  be  appreciated  by  any  but  those  who 
have  lived  in  "The  Islands."  Stevenson  himself  is  as 
usual  his  own  best  critic,  and  though  he  gives  it  high 
praise,  he  says  not  a  word  too  much:  "It  is  the  first 
realistic  South  Sea  story;  I  mean  with  real  South  Sea 
character  and  details  of  life.  Everybody  else  who  has 
tried,  that  I  have  seen,  got  carried  away  by  the  romance, 
and  ended  in  a  kind,  of  sugar-candy  sham  epic,  and  the 
whole  effect  was  lost  —  there  was  no  etching,  no  human 
grip,  consequently  no  conviction.  Now  I  have  got  the 
smell  and  look  of  the  thing  a  good  deal.  You  will 
know  more  about  the  South  Seas  after  you  have  read 
my  little  tale  than  if  you  had  read  a  library."3  It  is 
not  a  picture  of  any  one  island,  though  most  of  it  would 

1  Vailima  Letters,  p.  245. 

2  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  by  Walter   Raleigh,  p.  37.      Edward 
Arnold,  1896. 

>  Vailima  Letters,  p.  88. 

165 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

have  been  applicable  at  the  time  to  any  place  in  Samoa, 
if  Apia  had  not  existed.  The  darker  features  of  the 
story,  however,  as  I  have  said,  were  taken  chiefly  from 
some  of  the  people  then  living  in  the  Gilberts. 

The  Shovels  of  Newton  French  was  the  next  long  work 
which  he  planned,  a  chronicle  of  seven  generations  of 
a  family,  in  which  two  other  stories  were  to  be  em- 
bodied. In  much  the  same  way  the  chief  story  intended 
for  a  South  Sea  volume  became  absorbed  in  Sophia 
Scarlet,1  and  neither  of  the  projects  was  ever  realised. 

The  state  of  affairs  in  Samoa  was  becoming  serious. 
As  early  as  August  of  1891  Stevenson  had  written  to 
Mr.  Baxter,  "We  sit  and  pipe  upon  a  volcano,  which  is 
being  stoked  by  bland,  incompetent  amateurs  " ;  and  he 
now  determined  that  if  the  constitution  should  again  go 
into  the  melting-pot,  at  least  those  who  recast  it  should 
not  be  obliged  to  do  their  work  in  ignorance  of  the  past. 
The  material  he  had  collected  for  his  "letters"  and  the 
subsequent  unwritten  book  was  lying  ready  to  hand 
with  the  first  few  chapters  even  drafted,  and  he  began 
the  Foot-note  to  History,  worked  at  it  under  pressure, 
and  had  it  finished  in  the  following  May. 

The  evidence  he  brought  forward  has  never  been  met, 
the  conclusion  reached — that  the  Berlin  Treaty  was 
wholly  unworkable  —  has  long  been  recognised  by 
everybody  concerned;  but  for  the  time  the  only  result 
achieved  was  that  the  edition  of  the  Foot-note  to  History 
which  Baron  Tauchnitz  prepared  to  issue  for  the  Con- 
tinent of  Europe  was  burned  by  order  of  the  German 
Government,  and  the  publishers  only  escaped  from 
further  penalties  by  payment  of  a  large  sum  to  a  charity 
1  lyth  May,  1892,  l/ailima  Letters,  p.  161. 
166 


VAILIMA- 1891-94 

selected  by  the  authorities.  But  in  1893  Chief-justice 
Cedercrantz  and  President  von  Pilsach  were  superseded, 
and  the  Germans,  from  being  the  bitter  enemies  of  Ste- 
venson's friend  Mataafa,  had  by  1899  become  his  cham- 
pions and  the  chief  supporters  of  his  claim. 

Stevenson  now  turned  again  to  Scotland  for  subjects, 
for  the  first  time  since  he  had  finished  The  Master,  and 
his  power  of  reproducing  the  Scottish  life  and  atmo- 
sphere among  alien  scenes  and  under  widely  different 
influences  was  shown  once  more  in  a  no  less  remarkable 
degree.  The  Foot-note  was  but  partly  engaging  his  at- 
tention in  January,  1892,  when  he  received  fresh  mate- 
rial from  Mr.  Andrew  Lang  for  a  story  dealing  with  the 
private  adventures  of  the  Young  Chevalier.  Its  intro- 
duction was  written  in  May,  but  in  the  meantime  Ste- 
venson took  up  the  story  of  David  Balfour  at  the  point 
where  he  had  left  it  six  years  before,  and  he  now  car- 
ried it  on  concurrently  with  the  Foot-note,  so  that  in  spite 
of  endless  interruptions  it  was  actually  finished  by  the 
end  of  September.  It  was  the  first  of  his  works  that 
was  completed  while  I  was  at  Vailima,  and  I  well  re- 
member the  agitation  and  stress  with  which  it  was 
brought  to  a  close.-  It  lends  no  support  to  the  theory 
that  the  continuation  of  a  story  is  doomed  to  fail.  If 
Catriona  lacks  unity  of  plot  and  that  splendid  swiftness 
of  action  which  marked  the  best  part  of  Kidnapped,  it 
contains  the  story  of  Tod  Lapraik,  and  in  none  of  Ste- 
venson's books  save  the  last  is  there  such  wealth  of 
character.  We  have  David  Balfour  himself,  strength- 
ened and  matured;  Lord  Prestongrange ;  Stewart  the 
writer  and  his  colleagues;  Mrs.  Allardyce;  Barbara 
Grant,  that  most  bewildering  and  charming  of  women, 

167 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

who  rendered  even  her  creator  disloyal  to  Catriona; 
and  the  two  best  Highlandmen  in  fiction,  the  incom- 
parable Alan  Breck  again,  and  his  foil,  James  Mohr. 
Of  the  original  of  the  latter  Mr.  Andrew  Lang  says : 
"  From  first  to  last,  James  was  a  valiant,  plausible,  con- 
scienceless, heartless  liar,  with  a  keen  feeling  for  the 
point  of  honour,  and  a  truly  Celtic  passion  of  affection 
for  his  native  land.  .  .  .  Though  unacquainted  with 
the  documents  that  we  shall  cite,  Mr.  Stevenson  divined 
James  Mohr  with  the  assured  certainty  of  genius."  * 

Catriona  is  perhaps  the  best  example  of  the  rule  to 
which  it  was  apparently  an  exception,  that  all  its 
author's  more  considerable  stories  were  done  at  two 
breaks.  "I  have  to  leave  off,"  he  wrote  to  Mr.  lies  in 
1887,  "and  forget  a  tale  for  a  little;  then  I  can  return 
upon  it  fresh  and  with  interest  revived."  During  the 
composition  of  Catriona  there  was  no  long  pause,  but 
it  had  been  "simmering"  since  1886,  and  surely  we 
may  see  no  more  than  the  two  volumes  of  one  book  in 
the  completed  Adventures  of  David  Balfour. 

Again  there  was  the  question  of  what  should  be 
taken  next.  It  so  happened  one  afternoon  at  Vailima 
that  I  was  the  only  person  available,  and  Louis  carried 
me  off  to  debate  the  claims  of  two  stories  which  he  then 
unfolded — Sophia  Scarlet,  and  what  afterwards  became 
Weir  of  Hermiston.  Either  on  that  day  or  about  that 
time  I  remember  very  distinctly  his  saying  to  me: 
"There  are,  so  far  as  I  know,  three  ways,  and  three 
ways  only,  of  writing  a  story.  You  may  take  a  plot 
and  fit  characters  to  it,  or  you  may  take  a  character  and 

1  Pickle,  the  Spy,  by  Andrew  Lang,  p.  231,  and  edition  1897. 
There  is  much  about  James  Mohr  in  the  introduction  to  Rob  Roy. 

1 68 


VAILIMA-i89i-94 

choose  incidents  and  situations  to  develop  it,  or  lastly  — 
you  must  bear  with  me  while  I  try  to  make  this  clear  " 

—  (here  he  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  shape  something  and  give  it  outline  and  form) 

—  "you  may  take  a  certain  atmosphere  and  get  action 
and  persons  to  express  and  realise  it.     I  '11  give  you  an 
example — The  Merry  Men.     There  I  began  with  the 
feeling  of  one  of  those  islands  on  the  west  coast  of 
Scotland,  and  I  gradually  developed  the  story  to  express 
the  sentiment  with  which  that  coast  affected  me." 

It  was  on  this  last  scheme  that  Sophia  Scarlet  had 
been  conceived,  the  atmosphere  being  that  of  a  large 
plantation  in  Tahiti,  such  as  Mr.  Stewart's  had  been  at 
Atimono  twenty  years  before.1  It  may  be  that  the 
method  did  not  lend  itself  readily  to  an  effective  sketch 
of  the  plot;  the  draft  of  the  beginning  of  the  story  seems 
to  me  better  than  I  thought  the  outline  at  the  time. 
But  in  any  case  there  could  be  no  hesitation  in  the 
choice.  Weir  of  Hermiston  was  begun,  and  for  three 
or  four  days  Stevenson  was  in  such  a  seventh  heaven 
as  he  has  described : 2  he  worked  all  day  and  all  evening, 
writing  or  talking,  debating  points,  devising  characters 
and  incidents,  ablaze  with  enthusiasm,  and  abounding 
with  energy.  No  finished  story  was,  or  ever  will  be, 
so  good  as  Weir  of  Hermiston  shone  to  us  in  those 
days  by  the  light  of  its  author's  first  ardour  of  creation. 

Then  he  settled  down,  and  a  few  days  later  read 
aloud  to  the  family,  as  was  his  custom,  the  first  draft  of 
the  opening  chapters.  After  that  but  little  progress  was 
made,  and  in  January,  1893,  St.  I-ues  was  begun  as  a 
short  story,  the  visit  of  the  ladies  to  the  prisoners  in 

1  South  Sea  Bubbles,  24th  August,  1870.        2  See  vol.  ii.  p.  38. 

169 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Edinburgh  being  introduced  at  first  as  a  mere  episode 
without  result.  Stevenson  was  then  attacked  by  hem- 
orrhage: silence  was  imposed,  and  for  several  days  he 
continued  his  work  only  by  dictating  to  his  stepdaughter 
on  his  fingers  in  the  deaf-and-dumb  alphabet.  In  this 
fashion  he  achieved  from  five  to  seven  pages  of  manu- 
script a  day.  Before  long,  however,  he  left  home  with 
his  wife  and  Mrs.  Strong  upon  his  last  visit  to  Sydney, 
all  work  was  stopped,  and  on  his  return  in  six  weeks' 
time  he  began  a  short  story  for  the  Illustrated  London 
News.  He  had  lately  been  reading  again  Barbey  d'Aure- 
villy,  and  his  mind  had  turned  to  Brittany.  The  new  tale 
dealt  with  the  Chouans  in  1793,  and  was  to  be  called 
The  Owl.  But  it  did  not  prosper;  the  writer  was  not 
well,  and  he  was  anxious  about  his  wife's  health,  and 
when  one  chapter  had  been  written,  he  gave  up  the 
attempt  and  took  up  a  half-finished  piece  of  work, 
which  afterward  became  The  Ebb  Tide. 

This  was  a  story  begun  with  Mr.  Osbourne  in 
Honolulu  just  after  their  return  from  Tahiti,  and  known 
at  that  time  as  The  Pearl  Fisher  and  later  as  The 
Schooner  Farallone.  Mr.  Osbourne  had  drafted  the 
opening  chapters,  and  no  work  of  his  had  ever  earned 
more  praise  from  his  stepfather.  But  at  that  moment 
an  area  of  several  acres  behind  the  house  was  being 
cleared  of  forest  and  planted  with  pineapples  for  expor- 
tation—  a  scheme  which  it  was  hoped  would  make  the 
plantation  pay,  and  for  the  time  being  this  engaged  all 
Mr.  Osbourne's  energies.  Stevenson,  talking  to  me 
one  day,  produced  the  unfinished  draft  of  the  story, 
which  at  this  time  included  only  the  first  ten  or  eleven 
chapters,  and  debated  what  course  he  should  pursue. 

170 


VAILIMA  — 1891-94 

The  fragment  was  originally  intended  as  a  prologue; 
Attwater  was  to  be  blinded  with  vitriol  and  then  return 
to  England.  The  remainder  of  the  action  of  the  book 
was  to  take  place  in  England,  and  chiefly  in  Blooms- 
bury,  where  the  Herricks  lived.  Stevenson  now  recon- 
sidered the  whole  question,  accepted  a  shorter  ending, 
and  grew  more  and  more  interested  in  the  character  of 
Attwater,  as  he  worked  it  out.  It  is  perhaps  worth 
remarking  that  the  picture  of  the  arrival  of  the  schooner 
at  the  new  island  gives  better  than  anything  else  some 
of  the  charm  of  such  cruises  as  those  which  delighted 
its  author,  who  found  no  experience  more  exhilarat- 
ing than  "when  you  sight  an  island  and  drop  anchor 
in  a  new  world."1 

The  fables  begun  before  he  had  left  England  and 
promised  to  Messrs.  Longmans,  he  attacked  again,  and 
from  time  to  time  added  to  their  number.  The  refer- 
ence to  Odin  perhaps  is  due  to  his  reading  of  the  Sagas, 
which  led  him  to  attempt  a  tale  in  the  same  style, 
called  "The  Waif  Woman."  But  I  find  no  clue  to  any 
fresh  study  of  Celtic  legends  that  could  have  suggested 
the  last  and  most  beautiful  fable  of  all,  called  "The 
Song  of  the  Morrow,"  which  dealt  with  the  king's 
daughter  of  Duntrine,  who  "had  no  care  for  the  morrow 
and  no  power  upon  the  hour,"  and  is  like  nothing  else 
Stevenson  ever  wrote. 

Besides  all  these  and  the  letters  to  the  Times,  as  well 
as  his  private  correspondence,  there  were  endless  other 
schemes,  for  the  most  part  projected  and  perhaps  not 
even  begun,  never  certainly  brought  near  to  com- 
pletion. He  wrote  to  Mr.  Charles  Baxter:  "  My  schemes 

1  Letters,  ii.  120. 
171 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

are  all  in  the  air,  and  vanish  and  reappear  again  like 
shapes  in  the  clouds."  So  likewise  to  Miss  Boodle:  "  I 
have  a  projected,  entirely  planned  love-story  —  every- 
body will  think  it  dreadfully  improper,  I  'm  afraid  — 
called  Cannonmills.  And  I  've  a  vague,  rosy  haze 
before  me  —  a  love-story  too,  but  not  improper  —  called 
The  Rising  Sun.  It  's  the  name  of  the  wayside  inn 
where  the  story,  or  much  of  the  story,  runs ;  but  it 's  a 
kind  of  a  pun :  it  means  the  stirring  up  of  a  boy  by  fall- 
ing in  love,  and  how  he  rises  in  the  estimation  of  a  girl 
who  despised  him,  though  she  liked  him  and  had 
befriended  him.  I  really  scarce  see  beyond  their  child- 
hood yet,  but  I  want  to  go  beyond,  and  make  each 
out-top  the  other  by  successions:  it  should  be  pretty 
and  true  if  I  could  do  it." 

Neither  of  these  was  ever  written.  There  was  also 
a  play  for  home  representation,  showing  the  adventures 
of  an  English  tourist  in  Samoa;  and  I  can  remember 
two  more  serious  schemes  which  were  likewise  with- 
out result.  In  the  August  before  he  died,  he  drew  up 
with  Mr.  Osbourne  the  outline  of  a  history,  or  of  a  series 
of  the  most  striking  episodes,  of  the  Indian  Mutiny,  to 
be  written  for  boys,  and  sent  home  for  the  books 
necessary  for  its  execution.  Another  day  he  sketched 
the  plan  of  an  English  grammar,  to  be  illustrated  by 
examples  from  the  English  classics.  These  are  but  a 
few,  the  many  are  unremembered;  but  all  alike  belong, 
not  to  the  fleet  of  masterpieces  unlaunched,  but  the 
larger  and  more  inglorious  squadron  whose  keels  were 
never  even  laid  down. 


172 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  END —  1894 

"  Brief  day  and  bright  day 

And  sunset  red, 
Early  in  the  evening, 

The  stars  are  overhead." 
R.  L.  S. 

"  Wanted  Volunteers 

To  do  tbeir  best  for  twoscore years  t 

A  ready  soldier,  here  I  stand, 

Primed  for  Thy  command, 

With  burnished  sword. 

If  this  be  faith,  O  Lord, 

Help  Thou  mine  unbelief 

And  be  my  battle  brief." 

Envoy  to  No.  XXV.  of  Songs  of  Travel. 

THE  climate  of  Samoa  had  apparently  answered  the 
main  purpose  of  preserving  Stevenson  from  any  dis- 
abling attacks  of  illness,  and  allowing  him  to  lead  a  life 
of  strenuous  activity.  "I  do  not  ask  for  health,"  he 
had  said  to  his  stepson  at  Bournemouth,  "  but  I  will  go 
anywhere  and  live  in  any  place  where  I  can  enjoy 
the  ordinary  existence  of  a  human  being."  And  this 
had  now  been  granted  to  him  beyond  his  utmost 
hope. 

In  all  the  time  he  was  in  Samoa  he  had  but  two  or 
three  slight  hemorrhages,  that  were  cured  within  a  very 
few  days.  The  consumption  in  his  lungs  was  definitely 
arrested,  but  it  seems  certain  that  a  structural  weakening 
of  the  arteries  was  slowly  and  inevitably  going  on,  al- 

'73 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

though  his  general  health  was  apparently  not  affected. 
He  had  influenza  at  least  once;  occasionally  he  was 
ailing,  generally  with  some  indefinite  lassitude  which 
was  attributed  to  malaria  or  some  other  unverifiable 
cause.  In  the  summer  of  1892  he  was  threatened  with 
writers'  cramp,  which  had  attacked  him  as  long  ago 
as  1884.  From  this  time  forth,  however,  his  step- 
daughter wrote  to  his  dictation  nearly  all  his  literary 
work  and  correspondence,  and,  thanks  to  her  quickness 
and  unwearying  devotion,  he  suffered  the  least  possible 
inconvenience  from  this  restriction  of  his  powers.  He 
had  one  or  two  threatenings  of  tropical  diseases,  which 
were  promptly  averted;  and  for  several  periods,  to  his 
own  intense  disgust,  he  gave  up  even  the  very  moderate 
quantity  of  red  wine  which  seemed  to  be  a  necessity  of 
life  to  him,  and  —  worst  deprivation  of  all — he  aban- 
doned at  these  times  the  cigarettes  which  usually  he 
smoked  all  day  long.1 

But  in  spite  of  these  occasional  lapses,  he  was  able  to 
lead  an  active  life,  full  of  varied  interests,  and  the 
amount  of  work  which  he  did  during  this  period 
would  have  been  satisfactory  to  less  careful  writers, 
even  if  they  had  done  nothing  else  but  follow  their 
own  profession  without  any  interruption  or  diversion 
whatever. 

In  this  respect  Samoa  was  an  infinite  gain.  If  the 
tropical  climate  in  any  degree  weakened  the  bodily 
fabric  that  might  longer  have  borne  the  strain  of  his  im- 
petuous life  in  some  more  bracing  air,  no  one  can  for  a 
moment  doubt  what  choice  he  himself  would  have 
made  had  he  been  offered  five  years  of  activity,  of 

1  Letters,  ii.  297. 
174 


THE  END- 1894 

cruising  and  riding  and  adventure,  against  five-and- 
twenty  or  fifty  of  existence  in  the  sick-room  and  the 
sanatorium. 

It  was  his  friends  and  his  country  that  he  missed. 
From  the  day  that  Mr.  Colvin  went  down  the  ship's  side 
in  the  Thames,  or  the  day  that  Mr.  Low  parted  from  him 
in  New  York,  Stevenson  never  again  saw  any  one  of 
his  old  and  intimate  companions.  Fortune  was  against 
him  in  the  matter.  They  were  all  busy  people,  with 
many  engagements  and  many  ties,  and  when  at  last 
Mr.  Charles  Baxter  was  able  to  start  for  Samoa,  he  had 
not  yet  reached  Egypt  before  the  blow  fell.  Nor  was 
this  perversity  of  fortune  confined  to  his  old  friends 
alone;  it  also  affected  the  younger  writers  with  whom, 
in  spite  of  distance,  he  had  formed  ties  more  numerous, 
and,  in  proportion  to  their  number,  more  intimate  than 
have  ever  before  been  established  and  maintained  at  any 
such  distance  by  correspondence  alone.  And  it  was  the 
more  tantalising  because  the  paths  of  several  seemed 
likely  to  lead  them  past  the  very  island  where  he  lived. 
So  he  had  to  content  himself  as  best  he  might  with  his 
mail-bag,  which,  especially  in  the  answers  to  the  Vai- 
lima  Letters,  did  much  to  remove  for  him  the  draw- 
backs of  his  isolation  and  of  absence  from  the  centres 
of  literature  to  which  he  always  looked  for  praise  and 
blame. 

But  besides  the  loss  of  intercourse,  he  more  than  most 
men  suffered  from  another  pang.  The  love  of  country 
which  is  in  all  Scots,  and  beyond  all  others  lies  deepest 
in  the  Celtic  heart,  flowed  back  upon  him  again  and 
again  with  a  wave  of  uncontrollable  emotion.  When 
the  "smell  of  the  good  wet  earth"  came  to  him,  it 

"75 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

came  "with  a  kind  of  Highland  touch."  A  tropic 
shower  discovered  in  him  "a  frame  of  mind  and  body 
that  belonged  to  Scotland,  and  particularly  to  the 
neighbourhood  of  Callander."  When  he  turned  to  his 
grandfather's  life,  he  was  filled  with  this  yearning,  and 
the  beautiful  sentences  in  which  he  has  described  l  the 
old  man's  farewell  to  "  Sumburgh  and  the  wild  crags  of 
Skye  "  were  his  own  valediction  to  those  shores.  No 
more  was  he  to  "see  the  topaz  and  the  ruby  interchange 
on  the  summit  of  the  Bell  Rook,"  no  more  to  see  the 
castle  on  its  hill,  or  "the  venerable  city  which  he  must 
always  think  of  as  his  home."  As  he  wrote  of  himself, 
"  Like  Leyden  I  have  gone  into  far  lands  to  die,  not 
stayed  like  Burns  to  mingle  in  the  end  with  Scottish 
soil." 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  that  his  letters  show  moods 
of  depression  which  his  indomitable  spirit  prevented  him 
from  manifesting  at  the  time  to  those  around  him,  and 
which  perhaps  beset  him  most  when  he  turned  to  his 
correspondence.  As  has  been  well  said : 2  "He  was  an 
exile,  and  though  his  exile  lay  in  pleasant  places,  he 
had  an  exile's  thoughts,  and  these  were  bound  to  be 
uppermost  when  he  wrote  to  his  old  intimates." 

There  were  times  when  he  was  tempted  to  risk 
everything,  and  to  go  back  to  the  old  life  and  the  old 
friends,  were  it  only  for  a  few  weeks,  or  even  a  few 
days.  But  he  resisted  the  temptation,  and  fought  on 
manfully  to  the  end. 

For  the  rest  the  advantages  and  drawbacks  of  his 
position  were  very  evenly  balanced :  if  absence  threw 
him  out  of  touch  with  what  went  on  at  home,  it  also 

1  Vol.  i.  p.  9.  2  Quarterly  Review,  No.  381,  p.  196. 

"  176 


THE   END- 1894 

kept  him  clear  of  literary  cliques  and  coteries,  and 
saved  him  from  many  interruptions  and  calls  upon  his 
time;  if  it  hindered  his  personal  influence,  it  gave,  as 
Mr.  Quiller  Couch  has  pointed  out,  a  greater  scope  and 
leisure  for  his  correspondence.  His  earlier  Scotch 
novels  were,  as  we  have  seen,  not  written  in  Scotland, 
and  residence  in  that  country  could  hardly  have  bettered 
his  latest  stories.  On  the  other  hand,  among  the  work 
to  which  Polynesia  diverted  his  attention  there  is  no- 
thing, as  a  whole,  ranking  as  quite  first-rate  except  The 
Beach  of  Falesd. 

One  drawback  to  Samoa  there  certainly  was,  re- 
deemed by  no  corresponding  advantage,  and  that  was 
the  inevitable  delay  in  obtaining  material  or  informa- 
tion. If  a  book  were  wanted,  it  was  usually  of  such  a 
date  and  character  that  it  was  mere  waste  of  time  to 
attempt  to  procure  it  nearer  than  London  or  Edinburgh, 
and  this  meant,  under  the  most  favourable  circum- 
stances, an  interval  of  nearly  three  months,  even  if 
the  right  book  existed  or  could  be  obtained  at  all. 

This  to  a  man  of  Stevenson's  temperament  and  fer- 
tility was  most  unsettling;  and  it  involved  besides  great 
waste  of  labour,  and  the  abandonment  of  much  work 
that  had  been  well  begun. 

The  difficulty  of  the  life  in  Samoa  was  its  great  ex- 
pense. In  1887  Stevenson  had  written:  "Wealth  is 
only  useful  for  two  things  —  a  yacht  and  a  string  quar- 
tette. Except  for  these,  I  hold  that  ^"700  a  year  is  as 
much  as  anybody  can  possibly  want."  But  though 
he  had  neither  the  music  nor  the  vessel,  and  was  now 
making  an  income  of  six  or  seven  times  the  amount 
mentioned,  it  was  no  more  than  enough  to  meet  the 

177 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

cost  of  his  living  and  the  needs  of  his  generosity,  while 
he  was  occasionally  haunted  by  a  fear  lest  his  power  of 
earning  should  come  to  an  end. l 

During  the  period  of  his  residence  at  Vailima  he  re- 
turned but  twice  to  the  world  of  populous  cities.  In 
the  early  part  of  1893  he  paid  a  visit  of  several  weeks 
to  Sydney,  and  though  as  usual  there  he  was  much 
confined  to  his  room,  he  derived  from  the  trip  a  good 
deal  of  enjoyment.  For  the  first  time  he  realised  that 
his  fame  had  reached  the  Colonies,  and  though  no  man 
was  ever  under  fewer  illusions  upon  the  point,  he  en- 
joyed the  opportunities  it  gave  him  of  meeting  all  sorts 
of  people.  Artists  and  Presbyterian  ministers  alike 
vied  in  entertaining  him ;  at  Government  House  he  was 
just  in  time  to  see  the  last  of  Lord  and  Lady  Jersey; 
and  by  this  time  there  were  at  Sydney  a  number  of 
friends  in  whose  company  he  delighted,  especially  Dr. 
Fairfax  Ross  and  the  Hon.  B.  R.  Wise.  But  the  event 
which  pleased  and  cheered  him  most  was  his  meeting 
at  Auckland  with  Sir  George  Grey,  with  whom  he  had 
more  than  one  prolonged  and  most  inspiring  discussion 
upon  the  affairs  of  Samoa. 

In  September,  1893,  he  came  up  to  Honolulu  for  the 
sake  of  the  voyage,  intending  to  return  by  the  next 
steamer.  After  a  week  spent  there  I  left  him  apparently 
quite  well,  and  intending  to  sail  for  Samoa  the  next 
day.  But  in  those  four-and-twenty  hours  he  developed 
pneumonia,  and  remained  ill  at  Waikiki  until  his  wife's 
arrival,  and  they  did  not  reach  Apia  again  before  No- 
vember. It  was  thus  a  period  of  illness,  for  it  began 
with  Ta'alolo,  who  had  come  to  take  care  of  his  master, 

1  Cf.  Letters,  if.  284. 
178 


THE   END- 1894 

himself  taking  measles,  and  for  a  time  we  were  in  a 
sort  of  quarantine.  But  it  was  a  change  from  the 
limited  society  of  Apia:  Stevenson  saw  something  of 
his  many  friends  and  acquaintances  in  Honolulu;  he 
was  entertained  by  his  brother  Scots  of  the  Thistle  Club, 
and  elsewhere;  and  I  remember  a  most  impressive  in- 
terview between  him  and  the  lately  deposed  queen, 
whom  he  had  last  seen  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity, 
when  her  brother  was  upon  the  throne. 

On  his  return  to  Samoa  several  events  occurred  which 
gave  him  great  pleasure.  He  had  never  wearied  in  his 
kindness  and  generosity  towards  any  of  the  natives  who 
were  in  trouble,  and  he  was  constant  in  seeing  to  the 
real  needs  of  the  Mataafa  chiefs  who  were  in  prison. 
These  services  he  rendered  to  them,  as  he  rendered  all 
service,  without  thought  of  reward  or  fear  of  misunder- 
standing, and  it  was  all  the  more  pleasant  to  him  when 
the  chiefs  gave  him  first  an  elaborate  native  feast  with 
full  honours  in  the  jail  where  they  were  still  confined ; 
and  secondly,  as  soon  as  they  were  released,  came  as  a 
mark  of  gratitude,  and  cleared  and  dug  and  completed 
the  roadway  which  thereafter  led  to  his  house  —  the 
Ala  Loto  Alofa,  the  Road  of  the  Loving  Heart.  It 
was  a  task  of  no  inconsiderable  magnitude,  and  em- 
ployed a  large  number  of  men  for  several  weeks.  The 
whole  labour  and  the  whole  cost  were  borne  by  the 
chiefs;  the  idea  was  theirs  alone,  the  unprompted  and 
spontaneous  expression  of  their  regard,  and  no  ulterior 
motive  has  ever,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  been  suggested 
by  anybody  to  whom  the  circumstances  were  known. 
When  it  was  finished,  there  was  a  solemn  returning  of 
thanks,  and  Stevenson's  speech,  which  may  be  found 

•  79 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

at  the  end  of  the  Vailima  Letters,  was  his  best  and 
most  outspoken  utterance  to  the  people  of  Samoa. 

In  his  writing  also  he  met  with  a  mark  of  recogni- 
tion, to  which  he  refused  to  allow  full  significance,  the 
inception  of  the  Edinburgh  Edition  of  his  works.  Mr. 
Baxter,  who  had  already  rendered  him  invaluable  ser- 
vice in  disposing  of  his  new  books  from  time  to  time 
to  the  best  advantage,  had  formed  and  among  the  most 
contending  interests  had  carried  out  a  scheme  which, 
if  successful,  would  bring  in  a  sum  of  over  five  thou- 
sand pounds  without  involving  any  fresh  strain  upon 
the  author.  A  complete  edition  of  all  the  writings  that 
Stevenson  wished  to  be  preserved  was  to  be  produced 
in  the  best  possible  form,  and  limited  to  a  thousand 
copies.  It  was,  I  believe,  the  first  of  its  kind,  and  was 
taken  up  with  eagerness;  in  November,  1894,  the  first 
volume  was  issued,  and  was  everywhere  hailed  with 
unbounded  applause  and  congratulation.  "My  dear 
fellow,"  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Baxter,  "  I  wish  to  assure  you 
of  the  greatness  of  the  pleasure  that  this  Edinburgh 
Edition  gives  me.  I  suppose  it  was  your  idea  to  give 
it  that  name.  No  other  would  have  affected  me  in  the 
same  manner.  Do  you  remember,  how  many  years 
ago  —  I  would  be  afraid  to  hazard  a  guess  —  one  night 
when  I  communicated  to  you  certain  intimations  of 
early  death  and  aspirations  after  fame  ?  I  was  particu- 
larly maudlin ;  and  my  remorse  the  next  morning  on  a 
review  of  my  folly  has  written  the  matter  very  deeply 
in  my  mind;  from  yours  it  may  easily  have  fled.  If 
any  one  at  that  moment  could  have  shown  me  the 
Edinburgh  Edition,  I  suppose  I  should  have  died.  It 
is  with  gratitude  and  wonder  that  I  consider  'the  way 

180 


THE  END- 1 894 

in  which  I  have  been  led.'  Could  a  more  preposterous 
idea  have  occurred  to  us  in  those  days  when  we  used 
to  search  our  pockets  for  coppers,  too  often  in  vain, 
and  combine  forces  to  produce  the  threepence  necessary 
for  two  glasses  of  beer,  or  wandered  down  the  Lothian 
Road  without  any,  than  that  I  should  be  strong  and 
well  at  the  age  of  forty-three  in  the  island  of  Upolu, 
and  that  you  should  be  at  home  bringing  out  the  Edin- 
burgh Edition  ?  " 1 

In  the  end  of  September  he  wearied  of  St.  foes  within 
sight  of  its  conclusion,  and  fortunately  turned  again  to 
Weir  of  Hermiston.  It  was  the  third  time  he  had  taken 
it  in  hand,  for  he  would  not  work  at  it  when  he  felt 
uncertain  of  himself.  But  his  insight  was  at  its  clear- 
est, his  touch  most  sure,  and  his  style,  as  always  when 
he  approached  Scotland  in  his  novels,  was  at  its  simplest 
and  best.  "  He  generally  makes  notes  in  the  early 
morning,"  wrote  Mrs.  Strong  in  her  diary  on  Septem- 
ber 24th,  "which  he  elaborates  as  he  reads  them  aloud. 
In  Hermiston  he  has  hardly  more  than  a  line  or  two  to 
keep  him  on  the  track,  but  he  never  falters  for  a  word, 
but  gives  me  the  sentences  with  capital  letters  and  all 
the  stops,  as  clearly  and  steadily  as  though  he  were 
reading  from  an  unseen  book." 

October  and  November  passed ;  Stevenson  remained 
hard  at  work,  and  to  all  appearance  in  his  ordinary 
health.  His  birthday  was  celebrated  by  the  usual 
native  feast,  and  on  Thanksgiving  Day,  November  29th, 
he  gave  a  dinner  to  all  his  American  friends.  What 
remains  to  tell  has  been  so  related  by  Mr.  Osbourne 
that  no  other  account  is  possible  or  to  be  desired,  and 

1  Letters,  ii.  338. 
181 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

although  it  has  been  already  printed  in  the  Letters,  I 
must  thank  him  for  allowing  it  again  to  appear  in  these 
pages. 1 

"He  wrote  hard  all  that  morning  of  the  last  day;  his 
half-finished  book,  Hermiston,  he  judged  the  best  he 
had  ever  written,  and  the  sense  of  successful  effort 
made  him  buoyant  and  happy  as  nothing  else  could. 
In  the  afternoon  the  mail  fell  to  be  answered ;  not  busi- 
ness correspondence  —  for  this  was  left  till  later  —  but 
replies  to  the  long,  kindly  letters  of  distant  friends,  re- 
ceived but  two  days  since,  and  still  bright  in  memory. 

"At  sunset  he  came  downstairs;  rallied  his  wife 
about  the  forebodings  she  could  not  shake  off;  talked 
of  a  lecturing  tour  to  America  that  he  was  eager  to 
make,  'as  he  was  now  so  well/  and  played  a  game 
at  cards  with  her  to  drive  away  her  melancholy.  He 
said  he  was  hungry;  begged  her  assistance  to  help 
him  make  a  salad  for  the  evening  meal;  and  to  enhance 
the  little  feast  he  brought  up  a  bottle  of  old  Burgundy 
from  the  cellar.  He  was  helping  his  wife  on  the 
verandah,  and  gaily  talking,  when  suddenly  he  put 
both  hands  to  his  head,  and  cried  out,  'What 's  that?' 
Then  he  asked  quickly,  'Do  I  look  strange?'  Even 
as  he  did  so  he  fell  on  his  knees  beside  her.  He  was 
helped  into  the  great  hall,  between  his  wife  and  his 
body-servant,  Sosimo,  losing  consciousness  instantly, 
as  he  lay  back  in  the  arm-chair  that  had  once  been  his 
grandfather's.  Little  time  was  lost  in  bringing  the 

1 1  had  left  Samoa  five  weeks  before  for  a  long  cruise  in  the  Islands,  and 
the  news  first  reached  me  in  the  Carolines  in  the  following  March.  On 
November  25th  we  had  sighted  the  roofs  of  Vailima  from  the  sea,  but 
the  future  was  hidden  from  us,  and  we  continued  on  our  way. 

182 


THE  END- 1 894 

doctors  —  Anderson,  of  the  man-of-war,  and  his  friend 
Dr.  Funk.  They  looked  at  him  and  shook  their  heads; 
they  laboured  strenuously  and  left  nothing  undone; 
but  he  had  passed  the  bounds  of  human  skill. 

"The  dying  man  lay  back  in  the  chair,  breathing 
heavily,  his  family  about  him  frenzied  with  grief  as 
they  realised  all  hope  was  past.  The  dozen  and  more 
Samoans  that  formed  part  of  the  little  clan  of  which  he 
was  chief  sat  in  a  wide  semicircle  on  the  floor,  their 
reverent,  troubled,  sorrow-stricken  faces  all  fixed  upon 
their  dying  master.  Some  knelt  on  one  knee  to  be 
instantly  ready  for  any  command  that  might  be  laid 
upon  them.  A  narrow  bed  was  brought  into  the 
centre  of  the  room ;  the  Master  was  gently  laid  upon  it, 
his  head  supported  by  a  rest,  the  gift  of  Shelley's  son. 
Slower  and  slower  grew  his  respiration,  wider  the  inter- 
val between  the  long,  deep  breaths.  The  Rev.  Mr. 
Clarke  was  now  come,  an  old  and  valued  friend;  he 
knelt  and  prayed  as  the  life  ebbed  away. 

"He  died  at  ten  minutes  past  eight  on  Monday  even- 
ing the  ^rd  of  December,  in  the  forty-fifth  year  of  his 
age. 

"The  great  Union  Jack  that  flew  over  the  house  was 
hauled  down  and  laid  over  the  body,  fit  shroud  for  a 
loyal  Scotsman.  He  lay  in  the  hall  which  was  ever  his 
pride,  where  he  had  passed  the  gayest  and  most  de- 
lightful hours  of  his  life,  a  noble  room  with  open  stair- 
way and  mullioned  windows.  In  it  were  the  treasures 
of  his  far-off  Scottish  home:  the  old  carved  furniture, 
the  paintings  and  busts  that  had  been  in  his  father's 
house  before  him.  The  Samoans  passed  in  procession 
beside  his  bed,  kneeling  and  kissing  his  hand,  each  in 

.83 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

turn,  before  taking  their  places  for  the  long  night  watch 
beside  him.  No  entreaty  could  induce  them  to  retire, 
to  rest  themselves  for  the  painful  and  arduous  duties  of 
the  morrow.  It  would  show  little  love  for  Tusitala, 
they  said,  if  they  did  not  spend  their  last  night  beside 
him.  Mournful  and  silent,  they  sat  in  deep  dejection, 
poor,  simple,  loyal  folk,  fulfilling  the  duty  they  owed 
their  chief. 

"A  messenger  was  despatched  to  a  few  chiefs  con- 
nected with  the  family,  to  announce  the  tidings  and  bid 
them  assemble  their  men  on  the  morrow  for  the  work 
there  was  to  do. 

"Sosimo  asked  on  behalf  of  the  Roman  Catholics 
that  they  might  be  allowed  to  recite  the  prayers  for  the 
dead.  Till  midnight  the  solemn  chants  continued,  the 
prolonged,  sonorous  prayers  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  in 
commingled  Latin  and  Samoan.  Later  still,  a  chief 
arrived  with  his  retainers,  bringing  a  precious  mat  to 
wrap  about  the  dead. 

"  He,  too,  knelt  and  kissed  the  hand  of  Tusitala,  and 
took  his  place  amid  the  sleepless  watchers.  Another 
arrived  with  a  fine  mat,  a  man  of  higher  rank,  whose 
incipient  consumption  had  often  troubled  the  Master. 

"  '  Talofa,  Tusitala!'  he  said,  as  he  drew  nigh  and 
took  a  long,  mournful  look  at  the  face  he  knew  so 
well.  When,  later  on,  he  was  momentarily  required 
on  some  business  of  the  morrow,  he  bowed  rever- 
ently before  retiring.  '  Tofa,  Tusitala ! '  he  said, 
'  Sleep,  Tusitala ! ' 

"The  morning  of  the  4th  of  December  broke  cool 
and  sunny,  a  beautiful  day,  rare  at  this  season  of  the 
year.  More  fine  mats  were  brought,  until  the  Union 

184 


THE  END- 1 894 

Jack  lay  nigh  concealed  beneath  them.  Among  the 
newcomers  was  an  old  Mataafa  chief,  one  of  the 
builders  of  the  'Road  of  the  Loving  Heart,'  a  man  who 
had  spent  many  days  in  prison  for  participation  in  the 
rebellion.  'I  am  only  a  poor  Samoan,  and  ignorant,' 
said  he,  as  he  crouched  beside  the  body.  '  Others  are 
rich  and  can  give  Tusitala  the  parting  presents  of  rich 
fine  mats;  I  am  poor  and  can  give  nothing  this  last 
day  he  receives  his  friends.  Yet  I  am  not  afraid  to 
come  and  look  the  last  time  in  my  friend's  face,  never 
to  see  him  more  till  we  meet  with  God.  Behold! 
Tusitala  is  dead;  Mataafa  is  also  dead  to  us.  These 
two  great  friends  have  been  taken  by  God.  When 
Mataafa  was  taken,  who  was  our  support  but  Tusitala? 
We  were  in  prison,  and  he  cared  for  us.  We  were 
sick,  and  he  made  us  well.  We  were  hungry,  and  he 
fed  us.  The  day  was  no  longer  than  his  kindness. 
You  are  great  people  and  full  of  love.  Yet  who 
among  you  is  so  great  as  Tusitala  ?  What  is  your  love 
to  his  love  ?  Our  clan  was  Mataafa's  clan,  for  whom 
I  speak  this  day;  therein  was  Tusitala  also.  We  mourn 
them  both.' 

"A  meeting  of  chiefs  was  held  to  apportion  the  work 
and  divide  the  men  into  parties.  Forty  were  sent  with 
knives  and  axes  to  cut  a  path  up  the  steep  face  of  the 
mountain,  and  the  writer  himself  led  another  party  to 
the  summit  —  men  chosen  from  the  immediate  family — 
to  dig  the  grave  on  a  spot  where  it  was  Mr.  Stevenson's 
wish  that  he  should  lie.  Nothing  more  picturesque  can 
be  imagined  than  the  narrow  ledge  that  forms  the  sum- 
mit of  Vaea,  a  place  no  wider  than  a  room,  and  flat 
as  a  table.  On  either  side  the  land  descends  precipi- 

185 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

tously ;  in  front  lie  the  vast  ocean  and  the  surf-swept 
reefs ;  to  the  right  and  left,  green  mountains  rise,  densely 
covered  with  the  primeval  forest.  Two  hundred  years 
ago  the  eyes  of  another  man  turned  towards  that  same 
peak  of  Vaea,  as  the  spot  that  should  ultimately  receive 
his  war-worn  body :  Soalu,  a  famous  chief. 

"  All  the  morning  Samoans  were  arriving  with 
flowers;  few  of  these  were  white,  for  they  have  not 
learned  our  foreign  custom,  and  the  room  glowed  with 
the  many  colours.  There  were  no  strangers  on  that 
day,  no  acquaintances;  those  only  were  called  who 
would  deeply  feel  the  loss.  At  one  o'clock  a  body  of 
powerful  Samoans  bore  away  the  coffin,  hid  beneath  a 
tattered  red  ensign  that  had  flown  above  his  vessel  in 
many  a  remote  corner  of  the  South  Seas.  A  path  so 
steep  and  rugged  taxed  their  strength  to  the  utmost,  for 
not  only  was  the  journey  difficult  in  itself,  but  extreme 
care  was  requisite  to  carry  the  coffin  shoulder-high. 

"  Half  an  hour  later  the  rest  of  his  friends  followed. 
It  was  a  formidable  ascent,  and  tried  them  hard.  Nine- 
teen Europeans  and  some  sixty  Samoans  reached  the 
summit.  After  a  short  rest  the  Rev.  W.  E.  Clarke  read 
the  burial  service  of  the  Church  of  England,  interposing 
a  prayer  that  Mr.  Stevenson  had  written  and  had  read 
aloud  to  his  family  only  the  evening  before  his  death : 

"  We  beseech  Thee,  Lord,  to  behold  us  with 
favour,  folk  of  many  families  and  nations 
gathered  together  in  the  peace  of  this  roof, 
weak  men  and  women  subsisting  under  the 
covert  of  Thy  patience. 

"Be  patient  still;  suffer  us  yet  awhile  longer;  — 
186 


THE  END- 1 894 

with  our  broken  purposes  of  good,  with  our 
idle  endeavours  against  evil,  suffer  us  awhile 
longer  to  endure,  and  (if  it  may  be)  help  us  to 
do  better.  Bless  to  us  our  extraordinary  mer- 
cies; if  the  day  come  when  these  must  be 
taken,  brace  us  to  play  the  man  under  affliction. 
Be  with  our  friends,  be  with  ourselves.  Go 
with  each  of  us  to  rest;  if  any  awake,  temper 
to  them  the  dark  hours  of  watching;  and  when 
the  day  returns,  return  to  us,  our  sun  and 
comforter,  and  call  us  up  with  morning  faces 
and  with  morning  hearts  —  eager  to  labour 
—  eager  to  be  happy,  if  happiness  shall  be  our 
portion  —  and  if  the  day  be  marked  for  sor- 
row, strong  to  endure  it. 

"We  thank  Thee  and  praise  Thee;  and  in  the 
words  of  Him  to  whom  this  day  is  sacred, 
close  our  oblation. 

"Another  old  friend,  the  Rev.  J.  E.  Newell,  who  had 
risen  from  a  sick-bed  to  come,  made  an  address  in  the 
Samoan  language. 

"  No  stranger's  hand  touched  him.  It  was  his  body- 
servant  that  interlocked  his  fingers  and  arranged  his 
hands  in  the  attitude  of  prayer.  Those  who  loved  him 
carried  him  to  his  last  home;  even  the  coffin  was  the 
work  of  an  old  friend.  The  grave  was  dug  by  his  own 
men." 

So  there  he  was  laid  to  rest,  and  in  after-time  a  large 
tomb  in  the  Samoan  fashion,  built  of  great  blocks  of 
cement,  was  placed  upon  the  grave.  On  either  side 
there  is  a  bronze  plate:  the  one  bearing  the  words  in 

187 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Samoan,   "The  Tomb  of  Tusitala,"  followed  by  the 
speech  of  Ruth  to  Naomi,  taken  from  the  Samoan  Bible : — 

"Whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go;  and  where  thou  lodgest,  I  will 
lodge:  thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy  God  my  God:  where 
thou  diest,  will  I  die,  and  there  will  I  be  buried." 

At  the  sides  of  the  inscription  were  placed  a  thistle  and 
a  hibiscus  flower. 

Upon  the  other  panel,  in  English,  is  his  own 
Requiem: — 

A       ROBERT   LOUIS        Q 
1850        STEVENSON.         1894 

Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky, 
Dig  the  grave  and  let  me  lie. 
Glad  did  I  live  and  gladly  die, 
And  I  laid  me  down  with  a  will. 

This  be  the  verse  you  grave  for  me : 
Here  be  lies  where  be  longed  to  be; 
Home  is  tbe  sailor,  borne  from  sea, 
And  tbe  hunter  borne  from  tbe  bill. 

Since  his  death  the  chiefs  have  tabooed  the  use  of  fire- 
arms upon  the  hillside  where  he  lies,  that  the  birds  may 
live  there  undisturbed,  and  raise  about  his  grave  the 
songs  he  loved  so  well. 

The  proposal  that  a  memorial  pillar  should  be  erected 
on  the  hill  to  serve  as  a  sea-mark  was  abandoned.  Be- 
sides the  difficulties  of  transport  and  of  keeping  the 
summit  always  clear  of  trees,  there  was  the  real  danger 
of  the  slight  but  frequent  shocks  of  earthquake  by  which 
any  kind  of  column  would  sooner  or  later  have  been 
overthrown. 

In  1897  a  monument  to  Stevenson  was  erected  by 

1 88 


THE  END- 1 894 

public  subscription  in  the  Plaza  of  San  Francisco.  It  is 
a  granite  pedestal  supporting  a  bronze  galleon,  designed 
by  Mr.  Bruce  Porter,  who  also  with  Mr.  Gelett  Burgess 
is  responsible  for  the  plates  of  the  monument  in  Samoa. 
A  large  and  most  enthusiastic  meeting  was  held 
in  Edinburgh  in  December,  1896.  Committees  were 
formed  in  most  of  the  chief  cities  of  Great  Britain,  and 
finally  Mr.  St.  Gaudens  was  requested  to  produce  a 
monument  to  be  placed  upon  the  walls  of  the  Cathedral 
Church  of  St.  Giles  in  Edinburgh. 

R.  L.  s. 

Thin-legged,  thin-chested,  slight  unspeakably, 

Neat-footed  and  weak-fingered:  in  his  face  — 

Lean,  large-boned,  curved  of  beak,  and  touched  with  race, 

Bold-lipped,  rich-tinted,  mutable  as  the  sea, 

The  brown  eyes  radiant  with  vivacity — 

There  shines  a  brilliant  and  romantic  grace, 

A  spirit  intense  and  rare,  with  trace  on  trace 

Of  passion,  impudence,  and  energy. 

Valiant  in  velvet,  light  in  ragged  luck, 

Most  vain,  most  generous,  sternly  critical, 

Buffoon  and  poet,  lover  and  sensualist: 

A  deal  of  Ariel,  just  a  streak  of  Puck, 

Much  Antony,  of  Hamlet  most  of  all, 

And  something  of  the  Shorter-Catechist. 

A  Book  of  Verses,  p.  41,  by  W.  E.  Henley, 
published  by  D.  Nutt,  1888. 

Of  Stevenson's  personal  aspect  and  bodily  powers  it 
may  be  fitting  here  to  make  mention.  Of  his  appear- 
ance the  best  portraits  and  photographs  give  a  fair  idea, 
if  each  be  considered  as  the  rendering  of  only  one 
expression.  The  frontispiece  of  Volume  I.  is  from  a 
charcoal  head  drawn  by  Mrs.  Stevenson  at  Grez  as  long 

189 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

ago  as  1877,  and  redrawn  for  this  book  by  Mr.  T.  Blake 
Wirgman.  It  will  be  seen  that  the  eyes  were  the  most 
striking  feature  of  the  face;  they  were  of  the  deepest 
brown  in  colour,  set  extraordinarily  wide  apart.  At 
most  times  they  had  a  shy,  quick  glance  that  was  most 
attractive,  but  when  he  was  moved  to  anger  or  any  fierce 
emotion,  they  seemed  literally  to  blaze  and  glow  with  a 
fiery  light.  His  hair  was  fair  and  even  yellow  in  colour 
until  he  wasfive-and-twenty;  after  that  it  rapidly  deep- 
ened, and  in  later  years  was  quite  dark,  but  of  course 
without  any  touch  of  black.  When  he  reached  the 
tropics,  and  the  fear  of  taking  cold  was  to  some  extent 
removed,  he  wore  it  short  once  more,  to  his  own  great 
satisfaction  and  comfort.  His  complexion  was  brown 
and  always  high,  even  in  the  confinement  of  the  sick- 
room ;  the  only  phrase  for  it  is  the  "  rich-tinted  "  used  by 
Mr.  Henley  in  the  spirited  and  vivid  lines  he  has  kindly 
permitted  me  to  quote. 

In  height  he  was  about  five  feet  ten,  slender  in  figure, 
and  thin  to  the  last  degree.  In  all  his  movements  he 
was  most  graceful :  every  gesture  was  full  of  an  uncon- 
scious beauty,  and  his  restless  and  supple  gait  has  been 
well  compared  to  the  pacing  to  and  fro  of  some  wild 
forest  animal.  To  this  unusual  and  most  un-English 
grace  it  was  principally  due  that  he  was  so  often  taken 
for  a  foreigner.  We  have  seen  that  Mr.  Lang  found  his 
appearance  at  three-and-twenty  like  anything  but  that 
of  a  Scotsman,  and  the  same  difficulty  pursued  Steven- 
son through  life,  more  especially  on  the  Continent  of 
Europe.  "  It  is  a  great  thing,  believe  me,"  he  wrote  in 
the  Inland  Voyage,  "to  present  a  good  normal  type  of 
the  nation  you  belong  to  ";  and  as  he  says  in  the  same 

190 


THE  END- 1 894 

chapter,  "I  might  come  from  any  part  of  the  globe,  it 
seems,  except  from  where  I  do."  In  France  he  was 
sometimes  taken  fora  Frenchman  from  some  other  prov- 
ince; he  has  recorded  his  imprisonment  as  a  German 
spy;  and  at  a  later  date  he  wrote,  "I  have  found  out 
what  is  wrong  with  me — I  look  like  a  Pole." 

This  difficulty,  of  course,  was  not  smoothed  by  the 
clothes  he  used  to  wear,  which  often  in  early  days  were 
extremely  unconventional,  and  of  which  he  then  took  so 
little  notice  that  at  times  they  were  even  ragged.  In 
cool  climates  he  often  used  a  velveteen  smoking-jacket; 
in  undress  at  Vailima  he  wore  flannels  or  pyjamas,  with 
sometimes  a  light  Japanese  kimono  for  dressing-gown. 
On  public  occasions  in  Samoa  he  used  the  white  drill 
that  constitutes  full  dress  in  the  tropics,  with  perhaps 
light  breeches  and  boots  if  he  had  been  riding. 

Considering  his  fragility,  his  muscular  strength  was 
considerable,  and  his  constitution  clearly  had  great 
powers  of  resistance.  Perhaps  what  helped  him  as 
much  as  anything  was  the  faculty  he  had  under  ordinary 
circumstances  of  going  to  sleep  at  a  moment's  notice. 
Thus,  if  he  anticipated  fatigue  in  the  evening,  he  would 
take  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  sound  sleep  in  the  course  of 
the  afternoon. 

His  speech  was  distinctly  marked  with  a  Scottish 
intonation,  that  seemed  to  every  one  both  pleasing  and 
appropriate,  and  this,  when  he  chose,  he  could  broaden 
to  the  widest  limits  of  the  vernacular.  His  voice  was 
always  of  a  surprising  strength  and  resonance,  even- 
when  phthisis  had  laid  its  hand  most  heavily  upon  him. 
It  was  the  one  gift  he  really  possessed  for  the  stage,  and 
in  reading  aloud  he  was  unsurpassed.  In  his  full  rich 

191 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

tones  there  was  a  sympathetic  quality  that  seemed  to 
play  directly  on  the  heart-strings  like  the  notes  of  a  violin. 
Mrs.  Stevenson  writes :  "  I  shall  never  forget  Louis  read- 
ing Walt  Whitman's  Out  of  the  cradle  endlessly  rock- 
ing, followed  by  O  Captain,  my  Captain,  to  a  room  full 
of  people,  some  of  whom  had  said  that  Whitman  lacked 
sentiment  and  tenderness.  All  alike,  men  and  women, 
sat  spellbound  during  the  reading,  and  I  have  never  seen 
any  audience  so  deeply  moved."  Nor  for  my  part  shall 
I  forget  his  rendering  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  Ode  on 
the  evening  after  the  news  of  Tennyson's  death  had 
arrived  at  Vailima. 

When  his  attention  was  given  to  objects  or  persons, 
his  observation  was  singularly  keen  and  accurate,  but 
for  the  most  part  his  memory  for  the  faces  of  his  ac- 
quaintance was  positively  bad.  In  Apia  he  seldom 
could  tell  the  name  of  a  native,  and  on  his  last  visit  to 
Honolulu  I  remember  that  he  walked  the  streets  in  dread 
lest  he  should  disappoint  any  who  expected  to  be  re- 
membered and  to  receive  his  greeting.  In  a  letter  speak- 
ing of  the  death  of  a  lady  whom  he  had  not  met 
probably  for  twenty  years,  he  says,  "  I  partly  see  her 
face,  and  entirely  and  perfectly  hear  her  voice  at  this 
moment  —  a  thing  not  usual  with  me." 

His  hearing  was  singularly  acute,  although  the  appre- 
ciation of  the  exact  pitch  of  musical  notes  was  wanting. 
But  between  delicate  shades  of  pronunciation  he  could 
discriminate  with  great  precision.  I  can  give  an  instance 
in  point.  The  vowels  in  Polynesian  languages  are  pro- 
nounced as  in  Italian,  and  the  diphthongs  retain  the 
sounds  of  the  separate  vowels,  more  or  less  slurred 
together.  Thus  it  can  be  understood  that  the  difference 

192 


THE   END- 1894 

between  ae  and  ai  at  the  end  of  a  word  in  rapid  conver- 
sation is  of  the  very  slightest,  and  in  Samoa  they  are 
practically  indistinguishable.  In  the  Marquesas  Steven- 
son was  able  to  separate  them.  At  Vailima  one  day 
we  were  making  trial  of  these  and  other  subtleties  of 
sound ;  in  almost  every  case  his  ear  was  exactly  correct. 
Nothing  more  shook  his  admiration  for  Herman  Melville 
than  that  writer's  inability  to  approximate  to  the  native 
names  of  the  Marquesas  and  Tahiti,  and  in  his  own  deli- 
cate hearing  lay  perhaps  the  root  of  his  devotion  to 
style. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

R.    L.   S. 

"  Who  is  it  that  says  most?  which  can  say  more 
Than  this  rich  praise, —  that  you  alone  are  you  ?  " 

FOR  any  who  have  read  the  foregoing  pages  it 
should  be  unnecessary  here  to  dwell  upon  the 
sources  of  many  qualities  which  distinguished  Steven- 
son throughout  his  life,  or  the  degree  to  which  they 
were  called  forth  in  turn  or  affected  by  the  many  vari- 
ations of  his  environment.  A  Scot  born,  we  have  seen 
how  Edinburgh  and  Swanston  set  the  seal  upon  his 
nationality,  and  how  from  father  and  mother  he  drew 
diverse  elements  of  temperament  and  character.  We 
have  seen  the  effect  of  his  schooling,  such  as  it  was, 
and  the  prolonged  leisure  of  his  boyhood ;  of  the  influ- 
ence of  his  friends  and  his  reading;  the  results  of  his 
training  as  an  engineer  and  as  an  advocate;  of  his 
wanderings  in  France,  his  breakdown  in  America,  and 
the  happiness  of  his  married  life. 

In  several  respects  it  must  be  owned  that  he  was 
fortunate.  His  long  preludes  and  painful  apprentice- 
ship would  clearly  have  proved  impossible  had  it  been 
necessary  for  him  to  make  money  at  an  early  age,  and 
even  the  history  of  his  maturity  would  have  been  ma- 
terially changed  if  he  had  been  compelled  to  rely  solely 
upon  his  writing  to  meet  the  expenses  of  his  house- 
hold. His  late  beginning  had,  again,  this  advantage: 
tardy  in  some  ways  as  he  was,  he  had  left  behind  him 

'94 


R.  L.  S. 

the  ignobler  elements  of  youth  before  his  voice  was 
heard  or  recognised.  The  green-sickness  of  immaturity 
was  over,  at  the  worst  only  one  or  two  touches  of  self- 
consciousness  remained,  and  even  in  his  earliest  pub- 
lished essays  there  rings  out  the  note  of  high  spirit  and 
cheerfulness  which  issued  from  the  sick-room  of  later 
years,  deceived  for  a  time  the  most  penetrating  of  critics, 
and  was  perhaps  the  best  part  of  his  message  to  a 
world  that  had  fallen  on  weary  days. 

In  regarding  Stevenson  both  as  man  and  writer  we 
find  that  the  most  unusual  fact  about  him  was  the 
coupling  of  the  infinite  variety  of  his  character  and 
intellect  with  the  extraordinary  degree  in  which  he 
was  moved  by  every  thought  and  every  feeling.  Few 
men  are  acted  upon  by  so  wide  a  range  of  emotions 
and  ideas;  few  men  hold  even  two  or  three  ideas  or 
feel  even  a  few  emotions  with  nearly  as  much  intensity 
as  compelled  him  under  all.  When  we  have  consid- 
ered both  number  and  degree,  we  shall  find  other  gifts 
no  less  remarkable  and  even  more  characteristic— the 
unfailing  spirit  of  chivalry  and  the  combination  of  quali- 
ties that  went  to  make  up  his  peculiar  and  individual 
charm.  Though  it  is  inevitable  thus  to  take  him  piece- 
meal and  to  dwell  upon  one  side  at  a  time  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  the  others  he  so  rapidly  turned  upon  us,  we 
must  never  allow  this  process  to  efface  in  our  minds 
what  is  far  more  essential— the  image  of  the  living 
whole. 

I  have  spoken  of  him  at  once  as  a  man  and  a  writer, 
for  in  his  case  there  was  no  part  of  the  writer  which 
was  not  visibly  present  in  the  man.  There  are  authors 

'95 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

whose  work  bears  so  little  apparent  relation  to  them- 
selves, that  we  either  wonder  how  they  came  to  write 
so  good  a  book,  or  else  in  our  hearts  we  wish  their 
books  more  worthy  of  the  men.  To  neither  of  these 
classes  does  Stevenson  belong.  His  works  are  "  signed 
all  over,"  and  despite  the  chameleon-like  nature  of  his 
style,1  but  few  consecutive  sentences  on  any  page  of 
his  could  have  been  written  by  any  other  person. 
Authorship  provided  him  with  a  field  for  his  energies 
and  brought  him  the  rewards  of  success,  but  did  not 
otherwise  change  him  from  what  he  was,  nor  did  it 
even  exercise  the  whole  of  his  faculties  or  exhaust  the 
supply  of  his  ideas. 

If  I  have  failed  to  produce  a  correct  impression  of  his 
intense  energy,  I  have  quoted  him  and  written  to  little 
purpose.  The  child  with  his  "fury  of  play";  the  boy 
walking  by  himself  in  the  black  night  and  exulting  in 
the  consciousness  of  the  bull's-eye  beneath  his  coat; 
the  lad  already  possessed  with  the  invincible  resolve  of 
learning  to  write,  which  for  the  time  overcame  the 
desire  of  all  other  action :  these  were  but  the  father  of 
the  man.  So  vehement  were  his  emotions,  his  own 
breast  was  too  small  to  contain  them.  He  paid  a  visit 
at  nineteen  to  a  place  he  had  not  seen  since  childhood. 
"  As  I  felt  myself  on  the  road  at  last  that  I  had  been 
dreaming  of  for  these  many  days  before,  a  perfect  in- 
toxication of  joy  took  hold  upon  me;  and  I  was  so 
pleased  at  my  own  happiness  that  I  could  let  none  past 
me  till  I  had  taken  them  into  my  confidence."2 

It  is  useless  to  go  on  quoting:  through  life  he  did  the 

1  Appendix  G.  2  Juvenilia,  p.  96. 

196 


R.  L.  S. 

thing  he  was  doing  as  if  it  were  the  one  thing  in  the 
world  that  was  worth  being  done.  I  will  give  but  one 
more  example,  premising  that  its  essence  lies  in  its  very 
triviality:  the  smaller  the  matter  at  stake,  the  more  sur- 
prising is  the  blaze  of  energy  displayed.  One  day  he 
was  talking  to  a  lady  in  his  house  at  Bournemouth,  at 
a  time  when  he  was  recovering  from  hemorrhage,  and 
visitors  and  conversation  were  both  strictly  forbidden. 
A  book  of  Charles  Reade's— Griffith  Gaunt,  I  think— 
was  mentioned,  and  nothing  would  serve  Stevenson 
but  that  he  should  run  to  a  cold  room  at  the  top  of  the 
house  to  get  the  volume.  His  visitor  first  tried  to  pre- 
vent it,  then  refused  to  wait  for  his  return,  and  was 
only  dissuaded  from  her  resolve  by  being  told  (and  she 
knew  it  to  be  true)  that  if  he  heard  that  she  had  left  the 
house  he  would  certainly  run  after  her  down  the  drive 
without  waiting  for  either  hat  or  coat. 

"  The  formal  man  is  the  slave  of  words,"  he  said;  and 
as  a  consequence  of  his  own  fiery  intensity,  no  man 
was  ever  less  imposed  upon  by  the  formulas  of  other 
people.  His  railing  against  the  burgess,  for  example, 
was  no  catchword,  but  the  inmost  and  original  feeling 
of  his  heart.  Consequently,  whenever  he  uttered  a 
commonplace,  it  will  be  usually  found  that  he  had  re- 
discovered the  truth  of  it  for  himself,  did  not  say  it 
merely  because  he  had  heard  it  from  somebody  else, 
and  generally  invested  it  with  some  fresh  quality  of  his 
own.  Perhaps  his  most  emphatic  utterance  in  this  re- 
spect, and  that  most  resembling  his  conversation  in  cer- 
tain moods,  is  the  Lay  Morals,  all  the  more  outspoken 
because  it  was  never  finished  for  press.  It  abounds  in 
sayings  such  as  these:  "  It  is  easy  to  be  an  ass  and  to 

197 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

follow  tne  multitude  like  a  blind,  besotted  bull  in  a  stam- 
pede; and  that,  I  am  well  aware,  is  what  you  and  Mrs. 
Grundy  mean  by  being  honest."  "  It  is  to  keep  a  man 
awake,  to  keep  him  alive  to  his  own  soul  and  its  fixed 
design  of  righteousness,  that  the  better  part  of  moral  and 
religious  education  is  directed;  not  only  that  of  words 
and  doctors,  but  the  sharp  ferule  of  calamity  under  which 
we  are  all  God's  scholars  till  we  die."  "  Respectability: 
the  deadliest  gag  and  wet  blanket  that  can  be  laid  on 
men."  "I  have  only  to  read  books,  to  think  ...  the 
mass  of  people  are  merely  speaking  in  their  sleep." 

So  when  he  spoke,  he  spoke  direct  from  his  own 
reflection  and  experience,  and  when  he  prayed,  he  did 
not  hesitate  to  pass  beyond  the  decorous  ring-fence 
supposed  to  include  all  permissible  objects  of  prayer; 
he  gave  thanks  for  "  the  work,  the  food,  and  the  bright 
skies  that  make  our  lives  delightful,"  and  honestly  and 
reverently  made  his  petition  that  he  might  be  granted 
gaiety  and  laughter.  These  instances  are  on  the  sur- 
face, but  in  spiritual  matters  he  had  a  rare  power  of 
leaving  on  one  side  the  non-essential  and  going  straight 
to  the  heart  of  the  difficulty,  that  was  hardly  realised  by 
the  world  at  large.  Taine's  charge  against  Scott  that 
"  he  pauses  on  the  threshold  of  the  soul "  has  been  re- 
newed against  Stevenson.  For  one  thing,  in  spite  of 
his  apparent  frankness,  he  had  a  deep  reserve  on  the 
things  that  touched  him  most  profoundly,  and  never 
wore  his  heart  upon  his  sleeve.  So  far  as  the  criticism 
applies  to  his  writings,  it  is  little  less  untrue  than  that 
which  called  him  "a  f addling  hedonist,"  and  its  injus- 
tice has  been  shown  by  Mr.  Colvin ; x  so  far  as  it  ap- 

1  Letters,  i.  18. 
.98 


R.  L.  S. 

plies  to  himself,  it  must  be  met  by  a  contradiction.  He 
was  a  man  who  had  walked  in  the  darkest  depths  of 
the  spirit,  and  had  known  the  bitterness  of  humiliation. 
But  in  that  valley— of  which  he  never  spoke— he  too, 
like  the  friend  whom  he  commemorates,1  "had  met 
with  angels  ";  he  too  had  "  found  the  words  of  life." 

To  return  to  his  plain  speaking,  in  literature  he  was 
equally  sincere.  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  for  him  "  out 
and  away  the  king  of  the  romantics."  But  if  a  discern- 
ing estimate  of  Scott's  shortcomings,  as  well  as  his 
merits,  is  desired,  it  can  hardly  be  found  more  justly 
expressed  in  few  words  than  on  the  last  page  but  one 
of  "  A  Gossip  on  Romance." 

In  composition  also  no  one  who  produced  so  much 
has  probably  ever  been  so  little  the  victim  of  the  stereo- 
typed phrase  as  Stevenson.  A  few  mannerisms  he  had, 
no  doubt—"  it  was  a  beautiful  clear  night  of  stars  "— 
but  they  were  from  his  own  mint,  and  it  was  oftenest 
he  himself  who  first  called  attention  to  them. 

For  the  most  part  the  effect  on  his  writing  of  the 
ardour  of  which  I  am  speaking  is  to  be  seen  in  two 
ways— in  his  diligence  and  in  the  intellectual  intensity 
of  the  work  produced.  If  ever  capacity  for  taking 
pains  be  accounted  genius  in  literature,  no  one  can  deny 
the  possession  of  the  supreme  gift  to  Stevenson.  To 
Mr.  lies  he  wrote,  in  1887:  "  I  imagine  nobody  had  ever 
such  pains  to  learn  a  trade  as  I  had;  but  I  slogged  at  it 
day  in  and  day  out;  and  I  frankly  believe  (thanks  to 
my  dire  industry)  I  have  done  more  with  smaller  gifts 
than  almost  any  man  of  letters  in  the  world."  In  1876 
he  reckoned  that  his  final  copy  involved  ten  times  the 

1  Memories  and  Portraits,  p.  isi. 
199 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

actual  quantity  of  writing;  in  1888  the  articles  for  Scrib- 
ner's  Magazine  were  written  seven  or  eight  times ;  the 
year  before  his  death  he  told  Mr.  Crockett  that  it  had 
taken  him  three  weeks  to  write  four-and-twenty  pages. 
His  prose  works,  exclusive  of  his  published  letters,  run 
to  nearly  eight  thousand  pages  of  the  Edinburgh  Edi- 
tion—three hundred  words  to  a  page.  Nine-tenths  of 
this  was  written  within  less  than  twenty  years;  and 
there  were,  besides,  more  or  less  completely  conceived, 
many  novels,  stories,  essays,  histories,  biographies, 
and  plays,  which  occupied  no  inconsiderable  amount  of 
his  attention  within  that  time. 

Moreover,  besides  the  matter  there  was  the  form, 
and  this  from  first  to  last  continually  engaged  him.  In 
the  early  seventies  there  were  not  many  writers  in  this 
country  to  whom  style  was  a  matter  of  life  or  death,  or 
if  it  were  so,  their  aspirations  were  mostly  hidden  and 
unrealised.  But  to  Stevenson  from  the  beginning  the 
technical  problem  was  always  present;  with  less  fire 
the  work  of  art  had  been  less  completely  welded  into 
an  expression  of  the  whole  nature  of  the  man;  with 
less  diligence  the  file-marks  would  seldom  have  been 
so  completely  removed.  His  style  matured  in  simplicity 
and  breadth  as  the  years  of  labour  brought  their  reward : 
it  varied,  of  course,  with  the  subject  in  hand ;  but  not 
the  least  excellence  of  the  instrument  thus  evolved  is 
that  it  never  failed  of  adaptation  to  whatever  new  class 
of  writing  its  creator  essayed. 

The  present  point,  however,  is  the  energy  and  per- 
severance which  prepared  and  secured  the  mastery,  and 
in  reviewing  the  amount  of  Stevenson's  finished  work, 
neither  the  quantity  sacrificed  in  the  process  must  be 

200 


R.  L.  S. 

forgotten,  nor  the  extreme  compression  of  the  re- 
mainder. His  was  not  the  pen  that  covers  page  after 
page  without  an  effort,  unblotted  and  uncondensed, 
but  the  tool  of  the  man  who,  in  Mr.  Kipling's  phrase, 
"  makes  most  delicate  inlay-work  in  black  and  white, 
and  files  out  to  the  fraction  of  a  hair."  In  his  own 
words,  the  only  test  of  writing  that  he  knew  was  this : 
"If  there  is  anywhere  a  thing  said  in  two  sentences 
that  could  have  been  as  clearly  and  as  engagingly  and 
as  forcibly  said  in  one,  then  it 's  amateur  work."  And 
the  main  thing  in  which  he  thought  his  own  stories 
failed  was  this:  "  I  am  always  cutting  the  flesh  off  their 
bones." 

Of  such  material  he  produced  nearly  four  hundred 
pages  a  year  for  twenty  years,  and  of  the  conditions 
under  which  most  of  it  was  done  he  wrote  to  Mr. 
George  Meredith  in  1893:  — 

"  For  fourteen  years  I  have  not  had  a  day's  real 
health;  I  have  wakened  sick  and  gone  to  bed  weary; 
and  I  have  done  my  work  unflinchingly.  I  have  writ- 
ten in  bed,  and  written  out  of  it,  written  in  hemor- 
rhages, written  in  sickness,  written  torn  by  coughing, 
written  when  my  head  swam  for  weakness ;  and  for  so 
long,  it  seems  to  me  I  have  won  my  wager  and  recov- 
ered my  glove.  I  am  better  now,  have  been,  rightly 
speaking,  since  first  I  came  to  the  Pacific ;  and  still,  few 
are  the  days  when  I  am  not  in  some  physical  distress. 
And  the  battle  goes  on— ill  or  well,  is  a  trifle;  so  as  it 
goes.  I  was  made  for  a  contest,  and  the  Powers  have 
so  willed  that  my  battlefield  should  be  this  dingy,  in- 
glorious one  of  the  bed  and  the  physic  bottle." 

But  besides  the  energy  spent  on  the  work  there  is 

201 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

also  the  intensity  of  his  intelligence.  He  had  no  vast 
memory  like  Scott's,  but  he  remembered  to  a  most 
unusual  extent  his  own  emotions  and  sensations,  and  the 
events  of  his  past  life,  and  what  remained  in  his  mind 
preserved  its  freshness  and  a  lifelike  sharpness  of  outline. 

If  Stevenson's  claim  to  genius  is  to  be  based  upon 
any  single  gift,  it  is  this  quality  that  most  deserves 
such  recognition,  nor  can  it  well  be  refused,  if  Baude- 
laire's definition  be  regarded  as  adequate:  Le  gtnie  n'est 
que  renfance  retrouve'e  a  volonte.  The  paper  on  "  Child's 
Play,"  the  Child's  Garden  of  Verses,  and  certain  pas- 
sages quoted  in  the  earlier  pages  of  this  book  display  a 
power  of  returning  to  the  ideas  and  feelings  of  child- 
hood which  has  seldom  if  ever  been  shown  in  a  higher 
degree,  or  has  existed  except  along  with  intellectual 
powers  of  a  very  considerable  calibre. 

It  related  also  to  the  ordinary  sensations  of  maturity. 
We  have  all  been  active  and  all  been  tired,  but  who  has 
given  us  such  pictures  of  activity  and  of  fatigue  as 
Stevenson  ?  Consider  the  account  of  his  tobogganing, 
place  beside  it  the  calm  of  weariness  following  exercise 
described  in  "  Walking  Tours,"  or  the  drowsy  labour  of 
the  end  of  the  Inland  Voyage,  and  then  recall  David 
Balfour.  "  By  what  I  have  read  in  books,  I  think  few 
that  have  held  a  pen  were  ever  really  wearied,  or  they 
would  write  of  it  more  strongly.  I  had  no  care  of  my 
life,  neither  past  nor  future,  and  I  scarce  remembered 
there  was  such  a  lad  as  David  Balfour;  I  did  not  think 
of  myself,  but  just  of  each  fresh  step,  which  I  was  sure 
would  be  my  last,  with  despair,  and  of  Alan,  who  was 
the  cause  of  it,  with  hatred."1 

1  Kidnapped,  chap.  xxii. 
202 


R.  L.  S. 

It  was  not  only,  however,  in  the  recalling  of  his  past 
life  that  Stevenson  showed  this  concentration  of  mind, 
for  the  effect  of  such  works  as  Jehyll  and  Hyde  is  due 
to  the  intense  realisation  of  the  situations  evoked,  by 
which  new  life  was  breathed  into  worn-out  themes. 

As  in  books  so  in  correspondence.  Letters  were  at 
times  to  Stevenson  an  irksome  duty,  at  others  a  wel- 
come opportunity  for  the  outpouring  of  himself  to  his 
friends,  but  in  haste  or  in  delight  it  was  entirely  with- 
out calculation  that  he  dictated  or  wrote.  It  occurred 
suddenly  to  him  one  day  that  his  letters  to  Mr.  Colvin 
from  Samoa  "  would  make  good  pickings "  after  his 
death,  "  and  a  man  could  make  some  kind  of  a  book 
out  of  it  without  much  trouble." 1  So  little  have  people 
understood  his  character  and  moods  that  after  this  point 
they  have  found  in  the  Vailima  Letters  a  self-conscious 
tone  and  a  continual  appeal  to  the  gallery. 

To  see  him  was  utterly  to  disbelieve  in  any  regard  of 
ulterior  motives.  He  was  his  father's  son,  and  with 
him,  also,  "  his  affections  and  emotions,  passionate  as 
these  were,  and  liable  to  passionate  ups  and  downs, 
found  the  most  eloquent  expression  both  in  words  and 
gestures.  Love,  anger,  and  indignation  shone  through 
him  and  broke  forth  in  imagery,  like  what  we  read  of 
Southern  races."  If  he  were  talking,  he  was  seldom 
for  a  moment  still,  but  generally  paced  restlessly  up 
and  down  the  room,  using  his  hands  continually  to 
emphasize  what  he  was  saying,  but  with  gestures  that 
seemed  purely  necessary  and  natural. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  give  the  impression  of  his  de- 
meanour and  the  brilliancy  of  his  talk  without  falling 

1  Vailima  Letters,  June,  1892. 
203 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

into  the  contrary  error,  and  suggesting  a  self-conscious- 
ness full  of  acting  and  exaggeration.  Nothing  could 
be  further  from  the  truth,  and  it  is  easily  shown.  His 
singleness  of  mind  always,  in  later  days  at  any  rate, 
impressed  friends  and  foes  alike  with  his  sincerity  of 
purpose.  He  was  no  sportsman  and  no  athlete— fragile 
and  long-haired l— yet  nobody  ever  hinted  he  was 
unmanly :  he  was  given  to  preaching,  and  himself  not 
beyond  reproach,  yet  no  one  for  an  instant  suspected 
him  of  hypocrisy.  Whatever  he  did  he  did  with  his 
whole  heart,  and  it  was  hard  for  any  one  to  think 
otherwise.  All  the  foibles  of  mysteriousness  and 
secrecy  which  formed  a  part  of  his  life  in  student  days 
fell  away  from  him  before  the  end.  The  burden  of 
responsibility  had  diminished,  it  may  be,  the  gaiety  of 
his  temper;  but  his  character  shone  out  the  more  clearly 
as  the  years  showed  the  man. 

If  Stevenson  delivered  himself  over,  heart  and  soul, 
as  I  have  said,  to  the  absorbing  interest  or  the  ruling 
passion  of  the  moment,  it  was  assuredly  not  for  the 
want  of  other  interests  or  other  passions.  Of  the 
many-sidedness  of  his  mind  the  variety  of  his  works  is 
surely  sufficient  evidence,  and  even  these  by  no  means 
exhausted  the  whole  of  his  resources.  He  wrote  novels 
—the  novel  of  adventure,  the  novel  of  character,  the 
novel  of  incident;  he  wrote  short  stories  and  essays  of 
all  kinds— their  variety  it  is  impossible  even  to  char- 
acterise; he  wrote  history  and  biography,  fables  and 
moralities,  and  treatises  on  ethics;  he  wrote  poems— 
blank  verse,  lyrics  and  ballads,  songs  and  poetry  for 

1  See,  however,  vol.  ii.  p.  190. 
204 


R.  L.  S. 

children;  he  wrote  plays,  ranging  from  melodrama  to 
genteel  comedy;  books  of  travel  reflective  and  descrip- 
tive; he  composed  prayers  and  lay  sermons,  and  even 
ventured  on  political  speculation. 

All  were  not  of  equal  merit— that  is  not  now  to  the 
point— but  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  pick  out  at  least 
ten  works  differing  widely  from  each  other,  but  all 
definitely  belonging  to  the  highest  class  of  their  kind. 
Only  one  verdict  is  possible,  and  for  that  it  is  necessary 
to  lay  hands  upon  a  commonplace,  and  appropriate  it  to 
the  benefit  of  the  man  who  has  best  right  to  the  dis- 
tinction. It  is  curious  that  the  saying  was  first  made 
for  Goldsmith,  the  best  loved  among  our  authors  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  the  one  who,  in  Professor  Raleigh's 
phrase,  shares  with  Stevenson  "  the  happy  privilege  of 
making  lovers  among  his  readers."  But  of  Stevenson 
it  is  even  more  true  to  say  with  Dr.  Johnson:  Nullum 
fere  scribendi genus  non  tetigit,  nullum  quod  tetigit  non 
ornavit. 

For  this  diversity  of  power  and  achievement  I  have 
relied  on  the  evidence  of  his  published  writings,  because 
it  would  otherwise  appear  incredible.  But  account 
must  also  be  taken  of  at  least  a  part  of  his  unfinished 
and  unpublished  work,  differing  again  in  kind;  and  to 
that  in  turn  must  be  added  the  indications  in  his  letters 
of  other  veins  of  character  or  reflection  that  were  never 
worked  at  all.  Over  and  above  all  there  was  the  talk 
of  the  man  himself,  in  which  the  alternations  were 
even  more  rapid  and  more  striking.1  Wit,  humour, 
and  pathos;  the  romantic,  the  tragic,  the  picturesque; 

1  For  the  admirable  description  by  Mr.  Colvin  and  Mr.  Henley,  see 
Letters,  vol.  i.  pp.  xxxvii,  xxxviii. 

205 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

stern  judgment,  wise  counsel,  wild  fooling,  all  fell  into 
their  natural  places,  followed  each  other  in  rapid  and 
easy  succession,  and  made  a  marvellous  whole,  not  the 
least  of  the  wonder  being  the  congruity  and  spontaneity 
which  gave  to  it  the  just  effect  of  being  a  perfectly 
natural  utterance. 

The  quality  was,  of  course,  not  without  its  defects, 
the  chief  of  which  were  an  apparent  detachment  and 
a  sort  of  fickleness,  or  want  of  persistence.  It  was 
probably  the  former  of  these  which  led  several  persons 
quite  independently  of  each  other  to  give  Stevenson  the 
name  of  "Sprite,"  a  being  exempt  from  the  ordinary 
limitations  of  mankind,  an  Ariel  free  to  wander  through 
the  realms  of  imagination,  turning  hither  and  thither  as 
his  fancies  prompted  him. 

Of  the  abandonment  of  his  inventions  I  have  already 
spoken.  "  He  was  always  full  of  schemes,  and  plans, 
and  fancies,"  says  Mr.  Henley.  "You  left  him  hot  on 
one,  and  the  next  time  you  saw  him,  you  found  to 
your  distress  (having  gone  all  the  way  with  him)  that 
he  had  forgotten  all  about  it." 

Thus  if  he  saw  life  on  each  of  its  many  sides  in  turn 
with  an  intensity  denied  to  a  wider  range  of  vision,  he 
was  liable  at  times  to  see  it  neither  steadily  nor  whole. 
For  the  latter  he  was  somewhat  compensated  by  the 
fact  that  he  saw  so  many  aspects  of  it  in  rapid  succes- 
sion that  he  speedily  corrected  any  narrowness  of  con- 
sideration, his  nature  further  helping  him  in  this— that 
he  never  saw  it  with  any  narrowness  of  temper. 

Taken  together  with  the  kindliness  of  his  nature  it 
also,  to  a  great  extent,  explains  his  extraordinary  gift 
of  sympathy.  He  seemed  to  divine  from  his  own  ex- 

206 


R.  L.  S. 

perience  how  other  people  felt,  and  how  best  they 
might  be  encouraged  or  consoled.  I  doubt  if  any  one 
ever  remained  for  long  in  his  company  either  reticent 
or  ill  at  ease.  Mr.  Gosse  reminds  us  of  Stevenson's 
talks  at  Sydney  with  a  man  formerly  engaged  in  the 
"  blackbirding "  trade,  who  was  with  great  difficulty 
induced  to  speak  of  his  experiences.  "  He  was  very 
shy  at  first,"  said  Stevenson,  "and  it  was  not  till  I  told 
him  of  a  good  many  of  my  escapades  that  I  could  get 
him  to  thaw,  and  then  he  poured  it  all  out.  I  have 
always  found  that  the  best  way  of  getting  people  to  be 
confidential."  We  have  seen  with  what  success  he 
approached  the  natives  in  this  manner;  in  like  fashion, 
no  doubt,  he  inquired  of  Highlanders  about  the  Appin 
murder. 

But  even  where  he  had  some  set  purpose  in  view, 
his  talk  seemed  to  be  a  natural  and  purely  spontaneous 
outpouring  of  himself.  It  never  seemed  to  me  to  be 
vanity— if  it  were,  it  was  the  most  genial  that  ever 
existed— but  rather  a  reference  to  instances  within  his 
own  knowledge  to  illustrate  the  point  in  hand.  He 
never  monopolised  the  conversation,  however  eager  he 
might  be,  but  was  faithful  to  his  preference  for  talk 
which  is  in  its  nature  a  debate,  "  the  amicable  counter- 
assertion  of  personality,"  and  "the  Protean  quality 
which  is  in  man  "  enabled  him,  without  ceasing  to  be 
himself,  to  meet  the  temper  of  his  company. 

With  this  multiplicity  one  might  expect  to  find  room 
in  his  character  for  many  contradictory  qualities  or  the 
presence  in  excess  and  defect  of  the  very  same  virtues, 
and  this  in  truth  was  so.  To  reconcile  opposites  was 
a  task  he  thought  of  but  little  importance,  and  a  fa- 

207 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

vourite  phrase  with  him  was  Whitman's :  "  Do  I  con- 
tradict myself?  Very  well,  then  I  contradict  myself." 
Consistency  was  a  virtue  for  which  it  was  easy  to  pay 
too  high  a  price,  and  often  it  had  to  be  surrendered  for 
matters  of  greater  import.  Aspiration  and  humour, 
shrewdness  and  romance,  profusion  and  self-denial, 
self-revelation  and  reserve,  in  him  were  curiously 
matched.  On  his  frankness  and  his  reticence  I  have 
already  dwelt.  He  speaks  of  himself,  as  Professor 
Raleigh  says,1  "  with  no  shadow  of  hypocrisy  and  no 
whiff  or  taint  of  indecent  familiarity";  he  tells  you 
everything,  as  you  think  at  first,  and  so  simply  and  so 
frankly  that  it  is  only  gradually  you  realise  that  he  has 
not  been  revealing  the  things  nearest  his  heart,  that  you 
learn  no  secrets  of  his  home  or  his  religion,  nor  of 
anything  that  was  not  for  you  to  know.  Self-denial, 
again,  he  showed  in  many  ways ;  in  his  youth  especially, 
when  money  was  scarce  with  him,  if  any  one  had 
to  go  without,  he  was  the  first  to  surrender  his  claim 
and  sacrifice  himself.  On  the  other  hand,  with  "  that 
virtue  of  frugality  which  is  the  armour  of  the  artist "  he 
was  but  ill-equipped. 

Of  his  self-restraint  in  literature  there  can  be  no  bet- 
ter instance  than  the  very  sparing  use  he  makes  of  the 
pathetic.  In  the  early  essay  on  "  Nurses  "  it  is  perhaps 
a  trifle  forced ;  there  are  hardly  two  more  beautiful  or 
dignified  examples  of  it  in  English  literature  than  in 
the  essay  on  "  Old  Mortality,"  and  the  death  of  the  fugi- 
tive French  colonel  in  St.  Ives.  But  it  was  only  in  con- 
versation that  one  realised  the  extraordinary  degree  to 

1  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  by  Walter  Raleigh,  p.  77.  Edward 
Arnold,  1896. 

208 


R.  L.  S. 

which  he  possessed  the  power  of  moving  the  heart- 
strings. It  was  not  that  he  made  frequent  or  unmanly 
use  of  it,  but  being  less  upon  his  guard,  the  pathetic 
aspect  of  some  person  or  incident  would  appeal  to  him, 
and  in  a  moment  he  would  have  the  least  tender-hearted 
of  his  hearers  hardly  less  deeply  moved  than  himself. 
Ordinarily  even  in  conversation  he  used  it  chiefly  as 
a  weapon  of  chivalry  in  defence  of  the  neglected  and 
the  old ;  but  as  Swift  "  could  write  beautifully  about  a 
broomstick,"  so  Stevenson  one  day  described  a  chair, 
enlarging  upon  the  hard  lot  of  the  legs  that  had  to 
support  the  idle  seat,  until  the  boy  to  whom  he  was 
talking  was  almost  in  tears.  On  the  other  side  must  be 
set  his  description  of  "  Home,  Sweet  Home  "  in  Across 
the  Plains,  as  "  belonging  to  that  class  of  art  which 
may  be  best  described  as  a  brutal  assault  upon  the 
feelings.  Pathos  must  be  redeemed  by  dignity  of  treat- 
ment. If  you  wallow  naked  in  the  pathetic,  like  the 
author  of '  Home,  Sweet  Home,'  you  make  your  hearers 
weep  in  an  unmanly  fashion." 

But  the  supreme  instance  of  diverse  elements  in  him 
was  patience  and  its  opposite.  Never  have  I  heard  of 
any  one  in  whom  these  contradictories  were  both 
shown  in  so  high  a  degree.  His  endurance  in  illness 
and  in  work  we  have  seen :  no  pain  was  too  great  to 
bear,  no  malady  too  long:  he  never  murmured  until  it 
was  over.  No  task  was  too  irksome,  no  revision  too 
exacting— laboriously,  and  like  an  eager  apprentice,  he 
went  through  with  it  to  the  end. 

But  on  the  other  hand,  when  impatience  came  to  the 
surface,  it  blazed  up  like  the  anger  of  a  man  who  had 
never  known  a  check.  It  was  generally  caused  by 
n  209 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

some  breach  of  faith  or  act  of  dishonesty  or  unjusti- 
fiable delay.  The  only  time  I  know  of  its  being  dis- 
played in  public  was  in  a  Paris  restaurant,  where 
Stevenson  had  ordered  a  change  of  wine,  and  the  very 
bottle  he  had  rejected  was  brought  back  to  him  with  a 
different  label.  There  was  a  sudden  explosion  of 
wrath;  the  bottle  was  violently  broken;  in  an  instant 
the  restaurant  was  emptied,  and— so  much  for  long- 
suffering— the  proprietor  and  his  staff  were  devoting 
the  whole  of  their  attention  and  art  to  appease  and 
reconcile  the  angry  man. 

Sternness  and  tenderness  in  him  were  very  equally 
matched,  though  the  former  was  kept  mainly  for  him- 
self and  those  nearest  to  him,  of  whom  he  asked  nearly 
as  much  as  of  himself:  tenderness,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  for  the  failings  of  others.  For  like  many  chival- 
rous people,  he  expected  but  little  of  what  he  gave 
with  so  much  freedom.  His  tenderness  had  something 
feminine,  yet  without  lacking  the  peculiar  strength  that 
distinguishes  it  in  a  man.  The  Roman  quality  of 
sternness  he  so  much  admired  came  to  himself,  no 
doubt,  with  his  Scottish  blood.  It  is  a  virtue  that  for 
the  most  part  requires  exclusive  dominion  over  a  char- 
acter for  its  proper  display,  and  in  Stevenson  it  had 
many  rivals.  But  that  it  was  genuine  his  appreciation 
of  Lord  Braxfield  and  his  rendering  of  it  in  Lord 
Hermiston  place  beyond  all  doubt.1 

Sternness  and  pity  it  is  quite  possible  to  harmonise, 
and  the  secret  in  Stevenson's  case  is  perhaps  solved  in 
the  following  letter:  "I  wish  you  to  read  Taine's  Ori- 
gines  de  la  France  Contemporaine  .  .  .  and  to  try  and 

1  Cf.  Vaihma  Letters,  p.  220. 
210 


R.  L.  S. 

understand  what  I  have  in  my  mind  (ay,  and  in  my 
heart!)  when  I  preach  law  and  police  to  you  in  season 
and  out  of  season.  What  else  do  we  care  for,  what 
else  is  anything  but  secondary,  in  that  embroiled,  con- 
founded ravelment  of  politics,  but  to  protect  the  old, 
and  the  weak,  and  the  quiet,  from  that  bloody  wild 
beast  that  slumbers  in  man  ? 

"  True  to  my  character,  I  have  to  preach.  But  just 
read  the  book.  It  is  not  absolutely  fair,  for  Taine  does 
not  feel,  with  a  warm  heart,  the  touching  side  of  their 
poor  soul's  illusions;  he  does  not  feel  the  infinite  pathos 
of  the  Federations,  poor  pantomime  and  orgie,  that  (to 
its  actors)  seemed  upon  the  very  margin  of  heaven; 
nor  the  unspeakable,  almost  unthinkable  tragedy  of 
such  a  poor,  virtuous,  wooden-headed  lot  as  the 
methodistic  Jacobins.  But  he  tells,  as  no  one  else, 
the  dreadful  end  of  sentimental  politics." 

To  deal  with  Stevenson's  intellectual  qualities  alone 
is  to  approach  his  less  fascinating  side,  and  to  miss  far 
more  than  half  the  influence  of  his  charm.  I  have  re- 
ferred to  his  chivalry,  only  to  find  that  in  reality  I  was 
thinking  of  every  one  of  the  whole  group  of  attributes 
which  are  associated  with  that  name.  Loyalty,  hon- 
esty, generosity,  courage;  courtesy,  tenderness,  and 
self-devotion;  to  impute  no  unworthy  motives  and  to 
bear  no  grudge  J  to  bear  misfortune  with  cheerfulness 
and  without  a  murmur;  to  strike  hard  for  the  right  and 
take  no  mean  advantage;  to  be  gentle  to  women  and 
kind  to  all  that  are  weak;  to  be  very  rigorous  with 
oneself  and  very  lenient  to  others— these,  and  any  other 
virtues  ever  implied  in  "chivalry,"  were  the  traits  that 
distinguished  Stevenson.  They  do  not  make  life  easy, 

an 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

as  he  frequently  found.  One  day,  his  stepson  tells  me, 
they  were  sitting  on  the  deck  of  a  schooner  in  the 
Pacific,  and  Stevenson  was  reading  a  copy  of  Don 
Quixote.  Suddenly  he  looked  up,  and,  with  an  air  of 
realisation,  said  sadly,  as  if  to  himself,  "  That 's  me." 

In  spite  of  his  knowledge  of  the  world  and  his 
humour,  and  a  vein  of  cynicism  most  difficult  to  define, 
many  were  his  quixotries  and  many  the  windmills  at 
which  he  tilted,  less  often  wholly  in  vain  than  we 
thought  who  watched  his  errantry.  The  example 
remains;  and 

"  Would  to-day,  when  Courtesy  grows  chill, 
And  life's  fine  loyalties  are  turned  to  jest, 
Some  fire  of  thine  might  burn  within  us  still ! 
Ah,  would  but  one  might  lay  his  lance  in  rest, 
And  charge  in  earnest — were  it  but  a  mill ! "  * 

Of  some  of  the  virtues  I  have  cited  it  would  be  super- 
fluous to  say  more.  There  is  no  need  to  repeat  how 
he  faced  death  in  the  Riviera  or  bore  the  weariness  of 
exile.  But  I  may  be  pardoned  if  I  dwell  upon  a  few  of 
the  more  striking  instances  in  which  he  displayed  his 
open-mindedness,  his  generosity  of  temper,  his  hatred 
of  cruelty,  and  his  readiness  to  forgive  offences. 

Generosity  is  a  word  in  sore  danger  of  being  limited  to 
the  giving  of  money,  but  to  Stevenson  the  quality  must 
be  attributed  not  only  in  this,  but  also  in  the  widest 
possible  application.  It  is  a  virtue  that  from  its  nature 
is  easily  abused :  this  did  but  make  Stevenson  think  the 
more  highly  of  it,  and  it  can  have  no  more  splendid 
motto  than  his  own  aphorism,  of  which  one  version 

1  At  tbe  Sign  of  the  Lyre,  by  Austin  Dobson,  p.  93. 
212 


R.  L.  S. 

runs:  "The  mean  man  doubted,  Greatheart  was  de- 
ceived. 'Very  well,'  said  Greatheart." 

Of  Stevenson's  own  generous  temper  there  is  no  bet- 
ter illustration  than  a  letter  written  in  early  days  when 
he  had  been  called  to  task  for  some  words  of  deprecia- 
tion. 

"  I  think  the  crier-up  has  a  good  trade;  but  I  like  less 
and  less  every  year  the  berth  of  runner-down;  and  I 

hate  to  see  my  friends  in  it.  What  is 's  fault  ? 

That  he  runs  down.  What  is  the  easiest  thing  to  do? 
To  run  down.  What  is  it  that  a  strong  man  should 
scorn  to  do?  To  run  down.  And  all  this  comes 
steeply  home  to  me;  for  I  am  horrified  to  gather  that  I 
begin  myself  to  fall  into  this  same  business  which  I 
abhor  in  others." 

No  one  ever  more  eagerly  welcomed  the  success  of 
younger  writers,  entirely  unknown  to  himself;  but  of 
this  point  the  published  letters  are  quite  sufficient  proof. 

Any  offence  against  himself  he  forgave  readily,  nor 
did  he  find  it  difficult  to  make  excuses  for  almost  any 
degree  of  misconduct  on  the  part  of  others.  There  was 
only  one  action  which  1  heard  him  say  he  could  never 
pardon,  and  the  exception  was  characteristic.  The 
father  of  an  acquaintance  came  to  Edinburgh  one  day 
many  years  ago  to  render  his  son  material  assistance 
which  he  could  ill  afford.  The  pair  met  Stevenson, 
and  the  son,  introducing  his  father,  did  not  scruple  to 
sneer  at  him  behind  his  back.  Stevenson's  experience 
of  life  and  of  character  was  very  wide;  but  he  looked 
back  on  that  gesture  as  the  one  really  unpardonable 
offence  he  had  ever  known. 

He  could  be  angry  enough  and  stern  enough  upon 
313 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

occasion,  but  never  was  there  any  one  so  ready  to  melt 
at  the  least  appeal  to  his  compassion  or  mercy.  In  his 
political  quarrels  he  found  the  greatest  difficulty  in  keep- 
ing up  an  open  breach  with  persons  whom  he  liked  in 
themselves,  and  for  whom  his  sympathy  was  engaged, 
although  he  was  convinced  that  they  were  ruining 
Samoa.1  Truly  he  might  say:  "There  was  no  man 
born  with  so  little  animosity  as  I." 

But  in  fact  the  two  kinds  of  generosity  went  fre- 
quently together.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  give  the 
instances  I  know,  but  it  is  the  fact  that  over  and  over 
again,  no  sooner  had  any  one  quarrelled  with  him,  than 
Stevenson  at  once  began  to  cast  about  for  some  means 
of  doing  his  adversary  a  service,  if  only  it  could  be  done 
without  divulging  the  source  from  whence  it  came. 

In  the  narrower  sense  he  was  generous  to  a  fault, 
but  was  ready  to  take  any  amount  of  personal  trouble, 
and  exercised  judgment  in  his  giving.  When  there 
was  occasion  he  set  no  limit  to  his  assistance.  "  Pray 

remember  that  if  ever  X should  be  in  want  of 

help,  you  are  to  strain  my  credit  to  breaking,  and  to 
mortgage  all  I  possess  or  can  expect,  to  help  him." 
But  in  another  case:  "I  hereby  authorise  you  to  pay 

when  necessary  £ to  Z ;  if  I  gave  him  more,  it 

would  only  lead  to  his  starting  a  gig  and  a  Pomeranian 
dog.  I  hope  you  won't  think  me  hard  about  this.  If 
you  think  the  sum  insufficient,  you  can  communicate 
with  me  by  return  on  the  subject."  Of  course  he  re- 
ceived applications  from  all  sorts  of  people  on  all  man- 
ner of  pretexts.  There  was  one  man  who  embarrassed 
him  greatly  by  frequent  letters.  As  far  as  could  be 

1  Vailima  Letters,  p.  162. 
314 


R.  L.  S. 

gathered  this  person  desired  to  abandon  entirely  the 
use  of  clothing,  and  coming  to  Samoa  with  "  a  woman 
I  love,"  was  there  to  gain  his  livelihood  by  whitewash- 
ing Stevenson's  fences,  which,  by  the  way,  consisted 
almost  entirely  of  barbed  wire.  This  individual  even 
presented  himself  (but  in  the  garb  of  civilisation)  at 
Stevenson's  hotel  in  Sydney;  there,  however,  the  line 
was  drawn,  and  he  was  refused  an  interview. 

But  Stevenson's  best  service  was  often  in  the  words 
with  which  he  accompanied  his  gift.  To  his  funeral 
only  close  personal  friends  were  invited,  but  there  ap- 
peared a  tall  gaunt  stranger,  whom  nobody  remembered 
to  have  seen  before.  He  came  up  and  apologised  for 
his  presence,  and  said  he  could  not  keep  away,  for 
Stevenson  had  saved  him  one  day  when  he  was  at  his 
lowest  ebb.  "I  was  wandering  despondently  along 
the  road,  and  I  met  Mr.  Stevenson,  and  I  don't  know 
whether  it  was  my  story,  or  that  he  saw  I  was  a 
Scotchman,  but  he  gave  me  twenty  dollars  and  some 
good  advice  and  encouragement.  I  took  heart  again, 
and  I  'm  getting  on  all  right  now,  but  if  I  had  n't  met 
Mr.  Stevenson,  and  he  had  n't  helped  me,  I  should  have 
killed  myself  that  day."  And  the  tears  ran  down  his 
face. 

Of  Stevenson's  open  mind  there  could  perhaps  be 
no  better  proof  than  the  passage  in  his  last  letter  to 
R.  A.  M.  Stevenson,  written  only  two  months  before  his 
death.  If  there  was  a  class  of  men  on  this  earth  whom 
Louis  loathed  and  placed  beyond  the  pale  of  humanity, 
it  was  the  dynamiters  and  anarchists;  yet  he  could 
write  of  them  in  the  following  strain:— "There  is  a 
new  something  or  other  in  the  wind,  which  exercises 


LIFE    OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

me  hugely:  anarchy,— I  mean,  anarchism.  People  who 
(for  pity's  sake)  commit  dastardly  murders  very  basely, 
die  like  saints,  and  leave  beautiful  letters  behind  'em 
(did  you  see  Vaillant  to  his  daughter?  it  was  the  New 
Testament  over  again) ;  people  whose  conduct  is  inex- 
plicable to  me,  and  yet  their  spiritual  life  higher  than 
that  of  most.  This  is  just  what  the  early  Christians 
must  have  seemed  to  the  Romans.  ...  If  they  go  on 
being  martyred  a  few  years  more,  the  gross,  dull,  not 
unkindly  bourgeois  may  get  tired  or  ashamed  or  afraid 
of  going  on  martyring;  and  the  anarchists  come  out  at 
the  top  just  like  the  early  Christians." 

I  have  never  met  any  one  who  hated  cruelty  of  any 
kind  with  so  lively  a  horror— I  had  almost  said  with  so 
fanatical  a  detestation— from  his  earliest  years. 

"  Do  you  remember  telling  me  one  day  when  I  came 
in,"  wrote  the  Rev.  Peter  Rutherford,  his  tutor,  to 
Mrs.  Thomas  Stevenson  after  her  son's  death,  "  how  it 
was  his  eyes  were  so  swollen :  tear-swollen  ?  You  had 
found  him  in  the  study  sobbing  bitterly  over  a  tale  of 
cruelty  he  had  been  reading  all  alone."  At  the  other 
end  of  his  life  I  can  remember  his  own  impassioned 
account,  given  late  one  Sunday  evening  on  his  return 
from  Apia,  of  how  he  had  found  a  crowd  of  natives 
watching  a  dog-fight.  He  had  plunged  into  their  midst 
and  stopped  it,  and  turned  to  rebuke  them.  "But  I 
found  all  my  Samoan  had  clean  gone  out  of  my  head, 
and  all  I  could  say  to  them  was '  Pala'ai,  Pala'ai!  '  ('  Cow- 
ards, cowards!')."  But  the  most  characteristic  of  all 
his  utterances  was  at  Pitlochry  in  1881,  when  he  saw  a 
dog  being  ill-treated.  He  at  once  interposed,  and  when 
the  owner  resented  his  interference  and  told  him: 

216 


R.  L.  S. 

"  It 's  not  your  dog,"  he  cried  out:  "  It 's  God's  dog,  and 
I  'm  here  to  protect  it." 

At  the  same  time  it  must  be  laid  to  the  credit  of  his 
reason  and  the  firm  balance  of  his  judgment  that  al- 
though vivisection  was  a  subject  he  could  not  endure 
even  to  hear  mentioned,  yet,  with  all  his  imagination 
and  sensibility,  he  never  ranged  himself  among  the 
opponents  of  this  method  of  inquiry,  provided,  of 
course,  it  was  limited,  as  in  England,  with  the  utmost 
rigour  possible. 

It  is  curious  now  to  remember  that  an  early  critic  of 
the  Travels  with  a  Donkey  censured  him  severely  for 
the  treatment  of  Modestine  as  described  by  Stevenson 
himself.  Yet  woe  betide  either  friend  or  stranger  who 
appeared  at  Vailima  on  a  horse  with  the  sore  back  too 
common  in  the  tropics :  it  was  well  for  him  if  he  did 
not  have  to  return  home  on  foot. 

Irksome  as  ill-health  was  to  Stevenson,  it  was  yet  the 
possible  effect  on  his  own  character  that  he  most 
dreaded,  for  he  suspected  that  "  being  an  invalid  was  a 
fatal  objection  to  a  human  being,"  and  his  horror  of 
valetudinarianism  was  due  to  its  being  "the  worst 
training  upon  earth."  He  felt  it  hard  that  he  should  be 
judged  by  the  same  standard  as  men  to  whom  the 
world  was  still  "  full  of  sea-bathing,  and  horse  exercise, 
and  bracing,  manly  virtues."  Moreover,  although  he 
always  reckoned  his  life  "  as  a  thing  to  be  dashingly 
used  and  cheerfully  hazarded,"  he  could  not  be  alto- 
gether unconscious  of  the  insecurity  of  his  tenure.  On 
one  of  those  fragments  of  paper  preserved  by  chance, 
on  which  he  used  to  write  down  his  remarks  during 
the  many  periods  when  he  was  forbidden  to  speak, 

217 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

these  words  occur:  "You  know  the  remarks  of  no 
doctor  mean  anything  in  my  case.  My  case  is  a  sport. 
I  may  die  to-night  or  live  till  sixty."  I  can  remember 
his  saying  to  me  in  Samoa,  "  I  have  n't  had  a  fair  chance, 
I  've  had  to  spend  nearly  all  my  life  in  expectation  of 
death."  The  chief  result  with  him  perhaps  was  that 
he  sat  looser  to  life,  and  had  grown  altogether  familiar 
with  the  idea  of  leaving  it;  1  for  in  the  words  of  Sir 
Thomas  Browne :  "  He  that  so  often  surviveth  his  ex- 
pectation lives  many  lives,  and  will  hardly  complain  of 
the  shortness  of  his  days." 

The  question  of  Stevenson's  ill-health  brings  one  to 
the  consideration  which  troubled  him  now  and  again 
in  his  later  days :  whether  he  had  not  after  all  made  a 
mistake  in  adopting  literature  as  his  profession.  With 
him,  as  with  Scott,  "  to  have  done  things  worthy  to  be 
written  was  a  dignity  to  which  no  man  made  any  ap- 
proach who  had  only  written  things  worthy  to  be 
read."  At  times  he  thought  with  a  passing  regret  of 
the  life  of  action  he  had  forsaken,  and  was  struck  by 
the  irony  that  his  father,  who  had  opposed  his  choice 
of  the  profession  of  literature,  had  come  to  approve  of 
it  before  he  died,  while  he,  whom  nothing  but  that 
change  of  life  would  satisfy,  had  himself  lived  to  doubt 
its  wisdom.2  But  in  these  comparisons  it  was  an  ideal 
life  that  he  contemplated,  where  he  should  be  always 
well  and  always  strong,  doing  his  work  in  the  open 
air.  With  such  health  and  such  conditions,  his  char- 
acter and  his  powers  might  have  attained  to  other 
heights;  we  should  then  have  known  a  different  man, 
less  human  and  less  endeared  to  us  by  the  frailties  of 

i  Letters,  ii.  353.  *  Ibid.,  32 1 . 

218 


R.  L.  S. 

our  common  nature.  But  the  field  on  which  he 
fought  with  sickness  and  depression  was  one  in  which 
most  of  us  are  at  times  engaged,  and  where  many  suf- 
ferers carry  on  a  lifelong  struggle.  Anywhere  his  ex- 
ample would  have  been  splendid;  it  could  hardly  have 
been  more  widely  seen,  or  have  better  helped  his  fellow- 
men. 

There  v/as  this  about  him,  that  he  was  the  only  man 
I  have  ever  known  who  possessed  charm  in  a  high  de- 
gree, whose  character  did  not  suffer  from  the  posses- 
sion. The  gift  comes  naturally  to  women,  and  they 
are  at  their  best  in  its  exercise.  But  a  man  requires  to 
be  of  a  very  sound  fibre  before  he  can  be  entirely  him- 
self and  keep  his  heart  single,  if  he  carries  about  with 
him  a  talisman  to  obtain  from  all  men  and  all  women 
the  object  of  his  heart's  desire.  Both  gifts  Stevenson 
possessed,  not  only  the  magic  but  also  the  strength  of 
character  to  which  it  was  safely  intrusted. 

But  who  shall  bring  back  that  charm  ?  Who  shall 
unfold  its  secret  ?  He  was  all  that  I  have  said :  he  was 
inexhaustible,  he  was  brilliant,  he  was  romantic,  he 
was  fiery,  he  was  tender,  he  was  brave,  he  was  kind. 
With  all  this  there  went  something  more.  He  always 
liked  the  people  he  was  with,  and  found  the  best  and 
brightest  that  was  in  them;  he  entered  into  all  the 
thoughts  and  moods  of  his  companions,  and  led  them 
along  pleasant  ways,  or  raised  them  to  a  courage  and  a 
gaiety  like  his  own.  If  criticism  or  reminiscence  has 
yielded  any  further  elucidation  of  his  spell,  I  do  not 
know:  it  defies  my  analysis,  nor  have  I  ever  heard  it 
explained. 

There  linger  on  the  lips  of  men  a  few  names  that 
219 


LIFE   OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

bring  to  us,  as  it  were,  a  breeze  blowing  off  the  shores 
of  youth.  Most  of  those  who  have  borne  them  were 
taken  from  the  world  before  early  promise  could  be 
fulfilled,  and  so  they  rank  in  our  regard  by  virtue  of 
their  possibilities  alone.  Stevenson  is  among  the  fewer 
still  who  bear  the  award  both  of  promise  and  of  achieve- 
ment, and  is  happier  yet  in  this:  besides  admiration  and 
hope,  he  has  raised  within  the  hearts  of  his  readers  a 
personal  feeling  towards  himself  which  is  nothing  less 
deep  than  love. 


220 


APPENDICES 


APPENDIX  A 

ADDRESS  TO  THE  SAMOAN  STUDENTS  AT  MALUA, 
JANUARY,  1890 

You  are  the  hope  of  your  race.  You  stand  in  a  position  of  so  much 
privilege  and  so  much  responsibility,  that  I  myself  feel  it  a  privilege 
and  a  responsibility  to  address  you.  What  your  race  is  to  become  in 
the  future,  that  you  carry  in  your  hands:  the  father  and  the  mother 
carry  and  feed  the  little  child;  yet  a  little,  and  the  child  learns  to  walk, 
and  to  look  for  and  to  plant  for  itself ;  yet  a  little  longer  still,  and  he  is 
carrying  and  teaching,  and  feeding  and  teaching  new  young  ones.  So 
it  is  with  the  generations  in  a  family.  So  in  a  far  wider  sense  with 
them  in  a  country  and  a  race. 

You,  gentlemen,  are  now  learning  to  walk:  very  soon  at  the  swift 
pace  of  years — the  fast  runners — you  will  be  called  upon  to  teach  in 
your  turn.  And  while  all  are  called  upon  first  to  learn  and  then  to 
teach,  you  are  so  called  particularly;  you  have  been  chosen  and  set 
apart ;  you  are  the  elect  Levites :  you  are  called  upon  in  a  few  years  to 
be  the  fathers  and  guides  of  your  race:  according  as  you  do  well,  so 
may  your  country  with  God's  blessing  flourish ;  according  as  you  do 
ill,  so  will  it  certainly  decline. 

FIRST,  TO  LEARN 

I  was  in  an  island  not  very  far  from  here  where  they  are  trying  to 
teach  them  French,  for  the  Government  is  a  French  Government:  show 
any  of  the  young  men  some  written  French,  and  they  would  read  it 
out  aloud  with  a  good  pronunciation,  never  stumbling;  ask  any  of 
them  what  it  meant,  and  they  held  their  peace;  they  did  not  under- 
stand one  word :  they  read  as  parrots  speak.  Now  we  may  not  be  quite 
as  stupid  as  the  Marquesans,  and  yet  we  may  be  no  better  at  all. 

We  may  learn  a  great  deal  about  religion,  yet  not  learn  religion. 
We  may  know  a  thousand  texts,  and  get  no  sense  from  them,  as  a 
blind  man  might  have  a  thousand  lanterns  and  yet  see  no  better.  The 
meaning  of  religion  is  a  rule  of  life;  it  is  an  obligation  to  do  well;  if 

223 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

that  rule,  that  obligation,  is  not  seen,  your  thousand  texts  will  be  to 
you  like  the  thousand  lanterns  to  the  blind  man.  As  he  goes  about  the 
house  in  the  night  of  his  blindness,  he  will  only  break  the  glass  and  bum 
his  feet  and  fingers  :  and  so  you,  as  you  go  through  life  in  the  night 
of  your  ignorance,  will  only  break  and  hurt  yourselves  on  broken  laws. 

Before  Christ  came,  the  Jewish  religion  had  forbidden  many  evil 
things;  it  was  a  religion  that  a  man  could  fulfil,  I  had  almost  said,  in 
idleness;  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  pray  and  to  sing  psalms,  and  to  refrain 
from  things  forbidden.  Do  not  deceive  yourselves;  when  Christ  came, 
all  was  changed.  The  injunction  was  then  laid  upon  us  not  to  refrain 
from  doing,  but  to  do.  At  the  last  day  he  is  to  ask  us  not  what  sins 
we  have  avoided,  but  what  righteousness  we  have  done,  what  we  have 
done  for  others,  how  we  have  helped  good  and  hindered  evil :  what 
difference  has  it  made  to  this  world,  and  to  our  country  and  our  family 
and  our  friends,  that  we  have  lived.  The  man  who  has  been  only 
pious  and  not  useful  will  stand  with  a  long  face  on  that  great  day,  when 
Christ  puts  to  him  his  questions. 

But  this  is  not  all  that  we  must  learn :  we  must  beware  everywhere 
of  the  letter  that  kills,  seek  everywhere  for  the  spirit  that  makes  glad 
and  strong.  For  example,  these  questions  that  we  have  just  read  are 
again  only  the  letter.  We  must  study  what  they  mean,  not  what  they 
are.  We  are  told  to  visit  them  that  are  in  prison.  A  good  thing,  but 
it  were  better  if  we  could  save  them  going  there.  We  are  told  to  visit 
the  sick;  it  were  better  still,  and  we  should  so  better  have  fulfilled  the 
law,  if  we  could  have  saved  some  of  them  from  falling  sick.  In  con- 
sidering the  passage,  you  are  to  bear  in  mind  it  was  addressed  to  men 
poor,  without  consideration,  without  authority;  these  particular  ques- 
tions are  but  illustrations  of  the  law,  and  they  are  the  illustrations  best 
suited  to  the  case  of  the  disciples;  had  Christ  been  addressing  you  who 
are  already  chosen  out  to  be  the  guides  and  teachers  of  a  generation 
throughout  all  these  islands,  be  sure  the  illustrations  would  have  been 
different.  The  law,  the  spirit,  would  be  the  same;  the  questions,  the 
illustrations,  the  letter  would  have  been  quite  other.  The  best  the 
disciples  could  hope  to  do  was  to  comfort  and  heal  the  sick  and  the 
prisoners,  but  you  can  do  more.  If  you  think  you  cannot,  if 
you  confine  yourself  to  the  letter  here,  I  see  the  blind  man  stumbling 
among  useless  lanterns,  and  I  look  to  hear  him  cry  when  he  shall  have 
burned  his  fingers. 

224 


APPENDIX  A 

Your  case  is  apart.  You  have  to  help:  you  have  to  protect  your 
race  and  your  country.  It  will  not  do  for  you  to  visit  the  sick;  you 
must  teach  your  countrymen  to  avoid  those  things  that  bring  sickness. 
It  will  not  be  enough  for  you  to  comfort  the  prisoner;  it  will  be  for 
you  to  see  that  none  go  to  prison  unjustly,  and  that  of  those  who  go 
there  justly,  none  shall  have  gone  through  your  default.  It  will  be 
for  you,  in  particular,  to  see  that  your  whole  race  does  not  fall  sick 
and  die;  that  your  whole  race  does  not  go  into  a  prison  which  shall 
never  open. 

For  these  are  the  dangers.  You  have  yet  been  spared  the  visitation 
of  the  worst  sicknesses:  when  these  come  there  will  be  a  fresh  test  of 
your  teaching.  Will  you  by  that  time  have  made  your  race  wise 
enough  and  obedient  enough  to  take  the  necessary  care  ?  Will  you 
have  made  them  brave  enough  to  bear  the  horror,  the  bereavement, 
the  darkness  of  that  time  ?  Ah,  gentlemen,  if  so,  you  will  have 
played  a  brave  part;  you  will  have  fought  a  good  fight.  If  not,  what 
will  you  have  done  for  the  people  put  into  your  hands,  even  like  a 
child,  and  whom  you  have  not  taught  to  walk  ? 

Again  there  is  another  danger:  the  loss  of  your  land  to  foreigners. 
It  is  good  to  make  laws,  and  good  to  keep  them ;  but  let  us  remember 
that  a  law  in  itself  is  but  a  form  of  words,  as  the  mark  of  a  tapui 
[taboo]  was  only  a  branch  of  cocoanut  or  a  piece  of  mulberry  bark. 
What  makes  either  strong  is  something  in  the  heart  of  the  people.  It 
will  depend  upon  you  to  put  it  and  keep  it  there.  And  to  do  so  will 
be  better  than  to  visit  the  law-breakers  in  prison. 

And  again.  It  will  be  very  difficult  to  keep  this  law  about  the 
land,  unless  you  help. 

Yet  another  way.  Trouble  comes  upon  your  people;  and  it  is  a 
trouble  like  death,  that  must  come,  and  for  which  you  must  be  pre- 
pared. The  world  is  very  full  of  men,  many  of  them  starving;  in 
these  crowded  lands,  men  have  learned  to  work  desperately  hard; 
with  all  their  hard  work,  they  are  still  too  many  of  them  in  their  own 
place;  they  flow  like  water  out  of  a  full  bucket,  and  they  come,  they 
must  come,  they  have  begun  to  come  to  your  islands.  Then  the  fight 
will  befall,  it  has  begun  already;  it  is  a  true  fight,  although  swords  are 
not  drawn  nor  guns  fired,  for  men's  lives  and  men's  deaths  are  on  the 
issue. 

Now  I  will  say  to  you  plainly,  if  you  cannot  get  your  own  people 
H  225 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

to  be  a  little  more  industrious,  to  make  a  little  money,  and  to  save  a 
little  money,  you  may  make  all  the  good  laws  on  earth,  still  your 
lands  will  be  sold;  when  your  land  is  sold,  your  race  will  die,  and  in 
these  islands,  where  your  children  might  have  lived  for  a  hundred  cen- 
turies, another  race  will  sit,  and  they  will  ask  themselves  —  What 
were  the  Samoans  ?  and  only  find  word  of  you  in  ancient  books.  It 
is  for  the  king  to  make  the  laws;  it  is  for  you  to  make  the  people  in- 
dustrious and  saving;  which  if  you  do,  the  laws  will  be  kept;  which 
if  you  do  not,  they  shall  certainly  be  broken,  and  your  race  finish. 
And  when  the  traveller  comes  here  perhaps  in  no  such  long  time,  and 
looks  in  vain,  and  asks  for  the  Samoans,  and  they  tell  him  all  are 
dead;  and  he,  wondering  at  the  judgment,  cries  out,  "  Where  was  the 
fault?"  and  we  shall  say:  "  They  taught  young  men  in  Malua,  and  it 
was  thought  that  these  would  teach  the  people,  and  they  failed;  and 
now  the  wind  blows  and  the  rain  falls  where  their  roofs  once  stood, 
and  where  their  fires  once  burned." 

Perhaps  you  think  I  lay  a  heavy  charge  on  you:  it  is  not  I  that  lay 
it,  but  the  Master  you  profess  to  serve.  Or  that  I  ask  of  you  a 
miracle:  it  is  not  a  miracle,  for  it  has  been  partly  done  in  another 
place.  In  Tahiti  I  could  not  see  the  people  were  at  all  hard  worked; 
the  people  in  my  own  country  work  far  harder;  yet  they  work  hard 
enough.  In  a  village  where  I  lived  long,  many  had  fine  European 
houses,  and  more  were  building;  many  had  money  laid  aside,  none 
had  sold  his  land.  What  has  been  done  in  Tahiti,  cannot  that  be  done 
in  Samoa  ?  I  think  it  can,  and  I  know  the  duty  lies  on  you. 

SECOND,  TO  TEACH 

The  learning  part,  to  leam  the  spirit  of  your  Master,  the  helpfulness 
to  others  which  he  lays  down,  and  to  learn  his  spirit,  can  best  be 
applied  in  your  own  isle  to  your  own  race;  the  learning  part  done, 
you  have  to  Teach.  Upon  this  I  will  say  only  two  things. 

There  was  once  (or  so  they  tell)  a  false  prophet  in  Asia  who  came 
with  a  cloth  on  his  face.  No  man,  he  said,  might  look  upon  his  face 
and  live,  it  was  (like  Moses')  so  bright  with  the  effulgence  of  God's 
spirit;  and  many  disciples  and  an  army  gathered  about  the  prophet 
with  the  cloth.  And  one  fine  day  the  cloth  was  rent,  and  behold  an  old, 
bald,  hideous  creature  from  whom  all  men  shrank;  his  friends  fled  from 

226 


APPENDIX  A 

the  tent  screaming,  his  armies  fled  from  their  encampment,  and  in  one 
day  his  power  was  fallen. 

I  am  here  and  speak  to  you— good  words  I  think,  honest  words  I 
am  very  sure  —  to-morrow  1  am  gone  again,  and  you  cannot  tell  what 
manner  of  man  1  am :  whether  good  or  bad,  whether  I  do  what  I  teach, 
or  whether  I  disgrace  my  teaching  by  my  conduct.  I  am  the  prophet 
with  the  cloth  before  my  face.  But  you,  who  are  to  dwell  with  your 
fellow-countrymen,  every  day  will  make  another  hole  in  the  cloth  that 
covers  you,  and  you  may  be  still  talking  and  teaching  the  bravest  les- 
sons, and  prating  perhaps  of  the  brightness  of  your  countenance,  but 
all  the  while  your  hearers  see  you  as  you  are,  and  some  run  screaming 
and  some  laugh  aloud. 

No  man  can  do  as  well  as  he  teaches.  For  we  are  all  like  St.  Paul  in 
this,  that  we  see  better  things  than  we  are  able  to  attain  to;  we  can- 
not therefore  hope  to  be  seen  doing  what  we  teach,  but  we  must  be 
seen  trying  to  do  it:  we  shall  even  only  teach  it  well,  in  so  far  as 
we  are  trying  hard.  The  man  who  only  talks,  I  pledge  you  my  word, 
he  will  not  even  do  the  talking  well.  This  is  as  much  as  to  say,  that 
if  you  are  going  to  save  your  island  and  your  race  you  must  all  make 
up  your  hearts  constantly  to  a  life  of  hard  toil  in  the  eyes  of  your  dis- 
ciples. That  is  the  example  you  must  set.  You  may  think  this  is  a 
hard  thing.  But  did  you  suppose  there  is  any  way  in  life  which 
a  man  is  allowed  not  to  be  a  hero?  You  pastors  do  not  go  to  war; 
you  must  be  braver-hearted,  then,  at  home.  The  world  has  no  room 
for  cowards.  We  must  all  be  ready  somehow  to  toil,  to  suffer,  to  die. 
And  yours  is  not  the  less  noble  because  no  drum  beats  before  you, 
when  you  go  out  into  your  daily  battlefields;  and  no  crowds  shout 
about  your  coming,  when  you  return  from  your  daily  victory  or 
defeat. 

1  am  afraid  1  wish  you  to  be  very  stern  with  yourselves,  and  that 
brings  me  to  my  last  point.  How  are  you  to  be  stern  to  others? 
There  is  love,  and  there  is  justice.  Justice  is  for  oneself:  love  for 
others.  It  did  not  require  any  gospel  to  teach  a  man  to  love  himself  or 
to  be  stern  to  his  neighbours,  and  the  gospel  was,  in  fact,  the  oppo- 
site. Yet  there  is  one  thing  here  in  Samoa  that  I  think  you  will  have 
to  fight  very  hard;  or  all  the  toil  and  the  frugality  in  the  world  will 
never  make  your  islands  strong  enough  and  rich  enough  to  stand.  If  I 
were  speaking  at  home  in  my  own  country,  I  would  tell  people  to  be 

337 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

more  generous;  and  it  would  be  the  givers  and  the  lenders  I  would  be 
addressing.  I  want  to  ask  your  countrymen  to  be  more  generous  too; 
but  I  want  you  to  say  this  to  the  askers.  You  will  get  men  to  work 
with  difficulty  if  those  that  do  not  work  come  down  like  locusts  and 
devour  the  harvest.  For  the  defence  of  the  workers,  you  must  get 
these  beggars  ashamed  of  themselves,  or  you  must  make  them  so  ridic- 
ulous in  the  eyes  of  others  that  they  shall  not  dare  to  come  besieging 
people's  houses. 

To  them  I  am  afraid  you  must  be  a  little  stern,  for  they  lie  right  in 
the  way  that  leads  to  safety  for  your  islands  and  your  race;  they  are  a 
disease  that  must  be  cured;  they  are  a  new  plague  of  Egypt. 

But  to  sinners,  and  to  them  that  fail,  and  to  those  that  grow  weary  in 
well-doing,  you  must  remember  rather  to  be  long-suffering:  show  them 
the  better  way,  and  keep  your  anger  for  yourselves  when  you  shall  fail 
to  show  it.  A  brawling  pastor  is  the  next  worse  thing  to  an  idle  one. 


228 


APPENDIX  B 

MISSIONS  IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS 

An  Address  read1  before  the  Women's  Missionary  Association  and 
members  of  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Presbyterian  Church  of 
New  South  Wales,  at  Sydney,  March  18,  1893. 

I  SUPPOSE  I  am  in  the  position  of  many  other  persons.  I  had  con- 
ceived a  great  prejudice  against  Missions  in  the  South  Seas,  and  I  had 
no  sooner  come  there  than  that  prejudice  was  at  first  reduced,  and 
then  at  last  annihilated.  Those  who  deblaterate  against  missions 
have  only  one  thing  to  do,  to  come  and  see  them  on  the  spot.  They 
will  see  a  great  deal  of  good  done;  they  will  see  a  race  being  forwarded 
in  many  different  directions,  and  I  believe,  if  they  be  honest  persons, 
they  will  cease  to  complain  of  mission  work  and  its  effects.  At  the 
same  time,  and  infallibly  in  all  sublunary  matters,  they  will  see  a  great 
deal  of  harm  done.  I  am  very  glad  to  think  that  the  new  class  of 
missionaries  are  by  no  means  so  radical  as  their  predecessors.  1  have 
spoken  to  many  missionaries,  and  I  have  the  pleasure  to  say  that  the 
most  intelligent  among  them  are  of  one  opinion  and  that  the  true  one. 
They  incline  to  think  that  it  is  best  to  proceed  by  little  and  little,  and 
not  by  much  and  much.  They  are  inclined  to  spare  so  far  as  it  is 
possible  native  opinions  and  set  native  habits  of  morality;  to  seek 
rather  the  point  of  agreement  than  the  points  of  difference;  to  proceed 
rather  by  confirmation  and  extension  than  by  iconoclasm.  I  wish  I 
could  say  how  strongly  I  feel  the  importance  and  efficiency  of  this 
new  view.  People  have  learned  one  code  of  decency  from  their  child- 
hood up.  They  are  prepared  to  suffer,  in  some  cases  to  die,  for  that. 
There  is  here  a  vast  reservoir  of  moral  power.  It  is  the  business  of  the 
missionary  not  to  destroy,  but  to  utilise  it.  When  the  missionaries  — 
the  earlier  missionaries —  "  broke  the  tabus  "  in  the  South  Sea  Islands, 
they  chose  the  path  of  destruction,  not  of  utilisation,  and  I  am  pleased 

1  Stevenson  was  unable  to  be  present  at  the  meeting,  but  the  proofs 
of  this  article  were  revised  by  him  for  the  Sydney  Presbyterian. 

229 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

to  think  that  these  days  are  over,  that  no  missionary  will  go  among  a 
primitive  people  with  the  idea  of  mere  revolution,  that  he  will  rather 
develop  that  which  is  good,  or  is  capable  of  being  made  good,  in  the 
inherent  ideas  of  the  race,  that  when  he  finds  an  idea  half  bad  and 
half  good,  he  will  apply  himself  to  the  good  half  of  it,  develop  that, 
and  seek  to  minimise  and  gradually  obliterate  the  other,  thus  saving 
what  I  may  be  allowed  to  call  the  moral  water-power.  Because  we 
are,  one  and  all,  in  every  rank  of  life,  and  in  every  race  of  mankind, 
the  children  of  our  fathers,  we  shall  never  do  well,  we  shall  certainly 
never  do  nobly,  except  upon  the  lines  marked  out  for  us  by  our  fathers' 
footprints. 

And  the  true  art  of  the  missionary,  as  it  seems  to  me  —  an  outsider, 
the  most  lay  of  laymen,  and  for  that  reason,  on  the  old  principle  that 
the  bystander  sees  most  of  the  game,  perhaps  more  than  usually  well 
able  to  judge  —  is  to  profit  by  the  great  —  I  ought  really  to  say  the 
vast  —  amount  of  moral  force  reservoired  in  every  race,  and  to  expand 
and  to  change  and  to  fit  that  power  to  new  ideas  and  to  new  possibil- 
ities of  advancement. 

I  am  saying  only  that  which  I  have  learned  from  my  intercourse 
with  the  most  experienced  of  missionaries,  though  it  commends  itself 
to  me  upon  more  primitive  and  abstract  grounds.  What  I  have  still 
to  say  is  perhaps  more  personal  to  myself  as  an  observer. 

We  make  a  great  blunder  when  we  expect  people  to  give  up  in  a 
moment  the  whole  beliefs  of  ages,  the  whole  morals  of  the  family, 
sanctified  by  the  traditions  of  the  heart,  and  not  to  lose  something 
essential.  We  make  a  still  greater  —  or  I  should  say,  too  many 
missionaries  make  a  mistake  still  greater  —  when  they  expect,  not 
only  from  their  native  converts,  but  from  white  men  (by  no  means  of 
the  highest  class)  shipwrecked  or  stranded  at  random  on  these  islands, 
a  standard  of  conduct  which  no  parish  minister  in  the  world  would 
dare  to  expect  of  his  parishioners  and  church  members. 

There  is  here  in  these  despised  whites  a  second  reservoir  of  moral 
power,  which  missionaries  too  often  neglect  and  render  nugatory. 
Many  of  these  despised  traders  are  in  themselves  fairly  decent  and 
more  than  fairly  decent  persons.  They  dwell,  besides,  permanently 
amidst  the  native  population,  whereas  the  missionary  is  in  some  cases, 
and  perhaps  too  often,  only  there  upon  a  flying  visit.  The  trader  is 
therefore,  at  once  by  experience  and  by  influence,  the  superior  of  the 

230 


APPENDIX   B 

missionary.  He  is  a  person  marked  out  to  be  made  use  of  by  the  in- 
telligent missionary.  Sometimes  a  very  doubtful  character,  sometimes 
a  very  decent  old  gentleman,  he  will  almost  invariably  be  made  the 
better  by  some  intelligent  and  kindly  attention  for  which  he  is  often 
burning;  and  he  will  almost  invariably  be  made  the  worse  by  neglect 
or  by  insult. 

And  1  am  sorry  to  say  that  in  too  many  cases  I  have  found  these 
methods  to  be  followed  by  the  missionary.  I  know  very  well  that,  in 
part  from  the  misdeeds  of  the  worst  kind  of  traders,  and  in  part  by  the 
harshness  of  otherwise  excellent  missionaries,  this  quarrel  has  become 
envenomed.  Well,  it  is  just  this  quarrel  that  has  to  be  eliminated. 
By  long-suffering,  by  kindness,  by  a  careful  distinction  of  personalities, 
the  mission  and  the  traders  have  to  be  made  more  or  less  in  unison.  It 
is  doubtful  if  the  traders  will  change  much ;  it  is  perhaps  permissible  in 
the  layman  to  suggest  that  the  mission  might  change  somewhat.  The 
missionary  is  a  great  and  a  beneficent  factor.  He  is  hampered,  he  is 
restricted,  his  work  is  largely  negated  by  the  attitude  of  his  fellow- 
whites,  his  fellow-countrymen,  and  his  fellow-Christians  in  the  same 
island.  Difficult  as  the  case  may  be  —  and  all  mission  work  is  emi- 
nently difficult — the  business  which  appears  to  me  to  be  before  the 
missions  is  that  of  making  their  peace;  and  I  will  say  much  more—- 
of  raising  up  a  brigade  of  half  and  half,  or  if  that  cannot  be,  of  quarter 
and  quarter  lay  supporters  among  the  whites. 

Jf  I  had  not  been  asked,  1  should  have  been  the  last  man  in  the 
world  to  have  interjected  my  lay  opinions  into  your  councils.  Having 
been  asked,  I  willingly  lay  myself  open  to  your  censures,  and  confi- 
dently appeal  for  your  indulgence,  while  I  tell  you  exactly  how  this 
matter  has  seemed  to  a  far  from  uninterested  layman,  well  acquainted 
with  the  greater  part  of  the  South  Seas. 


APPENDIX  C 

VAILIMA  PRAYERS 

FOR  SUCCESS 

LORD,  behold  our  family  here  assembled.  We  thank  Thee  for  this 
place  in  which  we  dwell;  for  the  love  that  unites  us;  for  the  peace  ac- 
corded us  this  day ;  for  the  hope  with  which  we  expect  the  morrow ;  for 
the  health,  the  work,  the  food,  and  the  bright  skies  that  make  our  lives 
delightful;  for  our  friends  in  all  parts  of  the  earth,  and  our  friendly 
helpers  in  this  foreign  isle.  Let  peace  abound  in  our  small  company. 
Purge  out  of  every  heart  the  lurking  grudge.  Give  us  grace  and  strength 
to  forbear  and  to  persevere.  Offenders,  give  us  the  grace  to  accept  and 
to  forgive  offences.  Forgetful  ourselves,  help  us  to  bear  cheerfully  the 
forgetfulness  of  others.  Give  us  courage  and  gaiety  and  the  quiet 
mind.  Spare  to  us  our  friends,  soften  to  us  our  enemies.  Bless  us,  if  it 
may  be,  in  all  our  innocent  endeavours.  If  it  may  not,  give  us  strength 
to  encounter  that  which  is  to  come,  that  we  be  brave  in  peril,  constant 
in  tribulation,  temperate  in  wrath,  and  in  all  changes  of  fortune,  and 
down  to  the  gates  of  death,  loyal  and  loving  one  to  another.  As  the 
clay  to  the  potter,  as  the  windmill  to  the  wind,  as  children  of  their 
sire,  we  beseech  of  Thee  this  help  and  mercy  for  Christ's  sake. 

FOR  GRACE 

Grant  that  we  here  before  Thee  may  be  set  free  from  the  fear  of 
vicissitude  and  the  fear  of  death,  may  finish  what  remains  before  us  of 
our  course  without  dishonour  to  ourselves  or  hurt  to  others,  and  when 
the  day  comes,  may  die  in  peace.  Deliver  us  from  fear  and  favour, 
from  mean  hopes  and  from  cheap  pleasures.  Have  mercy  on  each  in 
his  deficiency;  let  him  be  not  cast  down;  support  the  stumbler  on  the 
way,  and  give  at  last  rest  to  the  weary. 

AT  MORNING 

The  day  returns  and  brings  us  the  petty  round  of  irritating  concerns 
and  duties.  Help  us  to  play  the  man,  help  us  to  perform  them  with 

232 


APPENDIX  C 

laughter  and  kind  faces,  let  cheerfulness  abound  with  industry,  let  our 
laughter  rise  like  a  .     Give  us  to  go  blithely  on  our  business  all 

this  day,  bring  us  to  our  resting  beds  weary  and  content  and  undis- 
honoured,  and  grant  us  in  the  end  the  gift  of  sleep. 

EVENING 

We  come  before  Thee,  O  Lord,  in  the  end  of  Thy  day  with  thanks- 
giving. Remember  and  relieve,  we  beseech  Thee,  those  who  are  in 
pain,  remember  sick  children,  visit  the  fathers  of  destitute  families,  shine 
in  the  house  of  affliction.  Our  beloved  in  the  far  parts  of  the  earth, 
those  who  are  now  beginning  the  labours  of  the  day  what  time  we  end 
them,  and  those  with  whom  the  sun  now  stands  at  the  point  of  noon, 
bless,  help,  console  and  prosper  them. 

Our  guard  is  relieved,  the  service  of  the  day  is  over,  and  the  hour 
come  to  rest.  We  resign  into  Thy  hands  our  sleeping  bodies,  our  cold 
hearths  and  open  doors.  Give  us  to  awake  with  smiles,  give  us  to 
labour  smiling.  As  the  sun  returns  in  the  east,  so  let  our  patience  be 
renewed  with  dawn ;  as  the  sun  lightens  the  world,  so  let  our  loving- 
kindness  make  bright  this  house  of  our  habitation. 

ANOTHER  FOR  EVENING 

Lord,  receive  our  supplications  for  this  house,  family,  and  country. 
Protect  the  innocent,  restrain  the  greedy  and  the  treacherous,  lead  us 
out  of  our  tribulation  into  a  quiet  land. 

Look  down  upon  ourselves  and  our  absent  dear  ones.  Help  us  and 
them;  prolong  our  days  in  peace  and  honour.  Give  us  health,  food, 
bright  weather,  and  light  hearts.  In  what  we  meditate  of  evil,  frus- 
trate our  will;  in  what  of  good,  further  our  endeavours.  Cause  inju- 
ries to  be  forgot  and  benefits  to  be  remembered.  Let  us  lie  down 
without  fear,  and  awake  and  arise  with  exultation.  For  His  sake,  in 
whose  words  we  now  conclude. 

IN  THE  SEASON  OF  RAIN 

We  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  the  glory  of  the  late  days  and  the  excel- 
lent face  of  Thy  sun.  We  thank  Thee  for  good  news  received.  We 
thank  Thee  for  the  pleasures  we  have  enjoyed  and  for  those  we  have 

233 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

been  able  to  confer.  And  now,  when  the  clouds  gather  and  the  rain 
impends  over  the  forest  and  "our  house,  permit  us  not  to  be  cast  down; 
let  us  not  lose  the  savour  of  past  mercies  and  past  pleasures ;  but,  like 
the  voice  of  a  bird  singing  in  the  rain,  let  grateful  memory  survive  in 
the  hour  of  darkness.  If  there  be  in  front  of  us  any  painful  duty, 
strengthen  us  with  the  grace  of  courage;  if  any  act  of  mercy,  teach  us 
tenderness  and  patience. 

ANOTHER 

Lord,  Thou  sendest  down  rain  upon  the  uncounted  millions  of  the 
forest,  and  givest  the  trees  to  drink  exceedingly.  We  are  here  upon 
this  isle  a  few  handfuls  of  men,  and  how  many  myriads  upon  myriads 
of  stalwart  trees!  Teach  us  the  lesson  of  the  trees.  The  sea  around 
us,  which  this  rain  recruits,  teems  with  the  race  of  fish ;  teach  us,  Lord, 
the  meaning  of  the  fishes.  Let  us  see  ourselves  for  what  we  are,  one 
out  of  the  countless  number  of  the  clans  of  Thy  handiwork.  When 
we  would  despair,  let  us  remember  that  these  also  please  and  serve 
Thee. 

BEFORE  A  TEMPORARY  SEPARATION 

To-day  we  go  forth  separate,  some  of  us  to  pleasure,  some  of  us  to 
worship,  some  upon  duty.  Go  with  us,  our  guide  and  angel;  hold 
Thou  before  us  in  our  divided  paths  the  mark  of  our  low  calling,  still 
to  be  true  to  what  small  best  we  can  attain  to.  Help  us  in  that,  our 
Maker,  the  dispenser  of  events,  Thou,  of  the  vast  designs  in  which  we 
blindly  labour,  suffer  us  to  be  so  far  constant  to  ourselves  and  our 
beloved. 

FOR  FRIENDS 

For  our  absent  loved  ones  we  implore  Thy  loving-kindness.  Keep 
them  in  life,  keep  them  in  growing  honour;  and  for  us,  grant  that  we 
remain  worthy  of  their  love.  For  Christ's  sake,  let  not  our  beloved 
blush  for  us,  nor  we  for  them.  Grant  us  but  that,  and  grant  us  courage 
to  endure  lesser  ills  unshaken,  and  to  accept  death,  loss,  and  disap- 
pointment as  it  were  straws  upon  the  tide  of  life. 

FOR  THE  FAMILY 

Aid  us,  if  it  be  Thy  will,  in  our  concerns.  Have  mercy  on  this  land 
and  innocent  people.  Help  them  who  this  day  contend  in  disappoint- 

234 


APPENDIX  C 

ment  with  their  frailties.  Bless  our  family,  bless  our  forest  house, 
bless  our  island  helpers.  Thou  who  hast  made  for  us  this  place  of  ease 
and  hope,  accept  and  inflame  our  gratitude;  help  us  to  repay  in  service 
one  to  another  the  debt  of  Thine  unmerited  benefits  and  mercies,  so 
that  when  the  period  of  our  stewardship  draws  to  a  conclusion,  when 
the  windows  begin  to  be  darkened,  when  the  bond  of  the  family  is 
to  be  loosed,  there  shall  be  no  bitterness  of  remorse  in  our  farewells. 

Help  us  to  look  back  on  the  long  way  that  Thou  hast  brought  us, 
on  the  long  days  in  which  we  have  been  served  not  according  to  our 
deserts  but  our  desires;  on  the  pit  and  the  miry  clay,  the  blackness  of 
despair,  the  horror  of  misconduct,  from  which  our  feet  have  been 
plucked  out.  For  our  sins  forgiven  or  prevented,  for  our  shame  un- 
published, we  bless  and  thank  Thee,  O  God.  Help  us  yet  again  and 
ever.  So  order  events,  so  corroborate  our  frailty,  as  that  day  by  day 
we  shall  come  before  Thee  with  this  song  of  gratitude,  and  in  the  end 
we  be  dismissed  with  honour.  In  their  weakness  and  their  fear  the 
vessels  of  Thy  handiwork  so  pray  to  Thee,  so  praise  Thee.  Amen. 

SUNDAY 

We  beseech  Thee,  Lord,  to  behold  us  with  favour,  folk  of  many 
families  and  nations  gathered  together  in  the  peace  of  this  roof,  weak 
men  and  women  subsisting  under  the  covert  of  Thy  patience.  Be 
patient  still ;  suffer  us  yet  awhile  longer ;  —  with  our  broken  purposes  of 
good,  with  our  idle  endeavours  against  evil,  suffer  us  awhile  longer 
to  endure,  and  (if  it  may  be)  help  us  to  do  better.  Bless  to  us  our  ex- 
traordinary mercies;  if  the  day  come  when  these  must  be  taken,  brace 
us  to  play  the  man  under  affliction.  Be  with  our  friends,  be  with 
ourselves.  Go  with  each  of  us  to  rest;  if  any  dream,  be  their  dreams 
quiet;  if  any  awake,  temper  to  them  the  dark  hours  of  watching;  and 
when  the  day  returns,  return  to  us,  our  sun  and  comforter,  and  call  us 
up  with  morning  faces  and  with  morning  hearts  —  eager  to  labour  — 
eager  to  be  happy,  if  happiness  shall  be  our  portion  —  and  if  the  day 
be  marked  for  sorrow,  strong  to  endure  it. 

We  thank  Thee  and  praise  Thee;  and  in  the  words  of  Him  to  whom 
this  day  is  sacred,  close  our  oblation. 

Lord,  enlighten  us  to  see  the  beam  that  is  in  our  own  eye,  and  blind 
us  to  the  mote  that  is  in  our  brother's.  Let  us  feel  our  offences  with 

235 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

our  hands,  make  them  great  and  bright  before  us  like  the  sun,  make 
us  eat  and  drink  them  for  our  diet.  Blind  us  to  the  offences  of  our 
beloved,  cleanse  them  from  our  memories,  take  them  out  of  our 
mouths  for  ever.  Let  all  here  before  Thee  carry  and  measure  with  the 
false  balances  of  love,  and  be  in  their  own  eyes  and  in  all  conjunctions 
the  most  guilty.  Help  us,  at  the  same  time,  with  the  grace  of  courage, 
that  we  be  none  of  us  cast  down.  When  we  sit  lamenting  amid  the 
ruins  of  our  happiness  or  our  integrity,  touch  us  with  fire  from  the 
altar,  that  we  may  be  up  and  doing  to  rebuild  our  city  :  in  the  name 
and  by  the  method  of  Him  in  whose  words  we  now  conclude. 

Lord,  the  creatures  of  Thy  hand,  Thy  disinherited  children,  come 
before  Thee  with  their  incoherent  wishes  and  regrets.  Children  we 
are,  children  we  shall  be,  till  our  mother  the  earth  has  fed  upon  our 
bones.  Accept  us,  correct  us,  guide  us,  Thy  guilty  innocents.  Dry 
our  vain  tears,  delete  our  vain  resentments,  help  our  yet  vainer  efforts. 
If  there  be  any  here,  sulking  as  children  will,  deal  with  and  enlighten 
him.  Make  it  day  about  that  person,  so  that  he  shall  see  himself  and 
be  ashamed.  Make  it  heaven  about  him,  Lord,  by  the  only  way  to 
heaven,  forgetfulness  of  self.  And  make  it  day  about  his  neighbours, 
so  that  they  shall  help,  not  hinder  him. 

We  are  evil,  O  God,  and  help  us  to  see  it  and  amend.  We  are 
good,  and  help  us  to  be  better.  Look  down  upon  Thy  servants  with 
a  patient  eye,  even  as  Thou  sendest  sun  and  rain;  look  down,  call 
upon  the  dry  bones,  quicken,  enliven;  re-create  in  us  the  soul  of 
service,  the  spirit  of  peace;  renew  in  us  the  sense  of  joy. 


236 


APPENDIX   D 

SAMOAN  AFFAIRS 

IT  is  obvious  that  if  the  Berlin  Treaty  were  to  prove  a  success,  the 
two  chief  officials  appointed  under  its  provisions  should  have  been  men 
of  the  world,  conversant  with  ordinary  business,  perfectly  straightfor- 
ward, accustomed  to  criticism,  free  from  red  tape,  prompt  to  act,  ready 
to  conciliate,  and  willing  to  undertake  responsibility.  Moreover,  they 
should  have  been  sent  out  to  their  posts  as  soon  as  the  news  of  their 
appointment  reached  Samoa. 

The  following  note  will  show  that  none  of  these  conditions  were  ful- 
filled. 1  take  my  facts  (with  one  single  exception)  from  the  reports  of 
the  British  Consul  and  the  American  Consul-General,  for  after  several 
efforts  I  have  failed  to  procure  a  copy  of  the  German  White-book  for  use 
in  writing  these  pages.  I  read  it  when  it  came  out,  and  would  refer  to 
the  leading  article  in  the  Times  for  January  lyth,  189;,  to  show  that  it 
directly  supported  Stevenson's  contentions.  But  it  would  be  useless  to 
refer  my  readers  to  an  authority  so  inaccessible.  The  American  White- 
book  is  likewise  not  easily  obtained,  and  I  have  principally  quoted 
the  British  Blue-book,  C  697?,  which  may  be  purchased  by  any  one 
for  the  sum  of  two  shillings  from  Messrs.  Eyre  &  Spottiswoode,  32 
Abingdon  Street,  London,  S.W.  As  to  the  impartiality  of  the  Blue- 
book,  the  British  Consul  during  this  period  was  never  at  any  time  sus- 
pected, justly  or  unjustly,  of  being  friendly  to  Stevenson. 

The  actual  facts  are  as  follows: — The  Treaty  was  signed  at  Berlin 
on  July  i4th,  1889:  the  President  did  not  reach  Apia  till  26th  April, 
1891  (Letter  No.  85),  and  though  the  Chief-Justice  arrived  in  the  end  of 
December,  1890  (No.  61),  he  did  not  open  his  court  for  hearing  cases 
till  the  i  jth  of  July  in  the  following  year  (120). 

The  Chief-Justice  from  the  beginning  refused  to  pay  any  customs  or 
other  duties  as  a  private  individual  (125);  he  delayed  the  proceedings 
of  the  Land  Commission,  by  disclaiming  all  authority  to  give  the  neces- 
sary formal  sanction  to  their  appointment  of  a  secretary,  and  the  hire 
of  a  safe  for  the  custody  of  the  numerous  title-deeds  produced  be- 

237 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

fore  their  court  (97);  he  appointed  two  Swedes  to  the  only  two  offices 
in  his  patronage,  and  procured  or  created  two  more  posts  which  they 
held  simultaneously  with  the  others  (73,  239);  and  he  refused  to  register 
any  land-titles  until  a  heavy  fee  had  been  paid  to  his  Registrar  —  a 
stroke  by  which  that  officer,  in  addition  to  his  salary,  would  within 
a  couple  of  years  have  pocketed  .£3000  (239,  305).  Then,  when 
troubles  were  beginning,  he  started  on  September  5th,  1891,  on  an  ex- 
pedition of  several  months'  duration  to  study  the  land  systems  of  Fiji 
and  Victoria  (123,  179). 

The  President  for  his  part  chose  as  the  first  work  of  the  new  Govern- 
ment a  large  prison,  on  which  .£1500,  being  half  the  sum  collected  by 
the  Government  up  to  the  time  of  his  proposal,  was  expended  (127),  and 
which,  when  finished,  was  not  used  (278).  At  the  same  time  he 
issued  an  advertisement  calling  for  tenders  for  "  Capitol  Buildings," 
"which  proved  to  be  mainly  a  dwelling-house  for  Baron  Senfft 
von  Pilsach  "  (127),  a  residence  for  which  it  is  fair  to  add  that  he  duly 
paid  rent. 

On  September  4th,  1891,  five  Samoan  chiefs,  who  had  surrendered 
voluntarily  to  a  political  charge  of  having  destroyed  some  houses  on 
the  island  of  Manono,  were,  no  doubt  with  complete  justice,  condemned 
to  six  months'  imprisonment  by  a  native  judge,  just  before  the  Chief- 
Justice  left  for  his  colonial  studies.  Two  days  later,  on  rumour  of  an 
attempt  to  rescue  the  men,  the  Swedish  jailor,  acting  presumably  on 
instructions,  placed  dynamite  under  the  prison,  connected  the  charge 
with  an  electric  battery,  and  threatened  to  blow  the  whole  of  the 
prisoners  sky-high,  if  any  such  attempt  were  made.1 

Yet  two  days  later,  there  having  been  no  sign  of  trouble,  the  king, 


1  This  is  the  only  statement  unsupported  by  any  of  the  official  pub- 
lications, but  it  was  made  deliberately  by  Stevenson  upon  the  informa- 
tion received  by  him  at  the  time  and  on  the  spot;  the  three  Powers 
publish  not  one  single  word  of  denial  or  incredulity,  and  when  the  Gov- 
ernment editor  tried  to  meet  the  accusation,  he  did  not  for  a  moment 
question  the  fact,  but  endeavoured  to  explain  it  away.  (The  Times, 
nth  January,  1893.) 

If  the  charge  were  untrue,  it  would  have  been  denied  with  indigna- 
tion in  two  lines.  If  it  were  admitted  to  be  true,  what  could  be  said? 
Let  us  take  a  recent  analogy:  what  would  have  been  said  if  dynamite 
had  been  placed  under  the  huts  at  Nooitgedacht  or  St.  Helena,  where  the 
prisoners  were  prisoners  of  war,  or  under  the  Tombs  or  Holloway  Jail? 

238 


APPENDIX  D 

with  the  assent  of  the  British  Consul,  and  acting  presumably  under  the 
direction  of  his  official  adviser,  altered  the  sentence  and  deported  the 
five  chiefs  to  an  island  entirely  out  of  his  jurisdiction  three  hundred 
miles  away.1 

Up  to  the  middle  of  March,  1892,  the  Customs  dues  of  Apia  had 
been  appropriated  without  question  to  the  Municipality,  which  had 
been  administering  its  income  with  the  full  consent  of  its  chairman,  the 
President,  who  regularly  published  its  accounts  (213,  encl.  4).  Sud- 
denly, without  a  word  of  warning,  the  President  made  an  entirely 
secret  reference  to  the  Chief-Justice,  who  thereupon,  without  giving 
any  notice  to  the  persons  most  interested,  or  any  opportunity  for 
arguing  the  question  before  him,  made  an  official  declaration  that  the 
whole  of  these  dues,  past,  present,  and  future,  belonged  to  the  Samoan 
Treasury,  and  that  the  Municipality  was  bound  to  refund  the  arrears. 
The  Council  was  thus  rendered  bankrupt,  and  its  future  revenue  re- 
duced to  j£i6oo  a  year,  on  which  the  President's  own  salary  of  ^1000 
was  a  first  charge.  The  income  of  the  Chief-Justice  was  paid  by  the 
Samoan  Treasury,  which  had  been  nearly  empty  until  it  received  this 
accession  of/50Oo(i88,  215,  encl.  i). 

It  was  to  do  them  little  good.  On  the  strength  of  this  windfall  the 
President  (263)  proceeded  with  the  utmost  secrecy  to  buy  up  the  local 
newspaper!  For  this  he  paid  .£650  in  cash,  entered  the  purchase  as  a 
"  special  investment  ordered  by  the  king"  (306),  and  suppressed  the 
fact  as  long  as  possible.  The  Government  advertisements  had  hitherto 
been  the  mainstay  of  the  paper,  which  had  nevertheless  maintained  a 
creditable  independence.  Four  months  later  the  Government  started 
at  additional  cost  a  Royal  Gazette,  which  henceforth  contained  the 
advertisements  given  formerly  to  their  own  newspaper,  "thereby  re- 
ducing the  selling  value  of  the  Samoa  Times  from  ^650  to  about 
.£200."  By  this  time  the  Samoan  Government,  which  could  collect  few 
or  no  native  taxes,  was  almost  bankrupt  again  (263).  A  rival  paper 
was  naturally  started  in  a  few  months,  still  further  reducing  the  value 
of  the  Samoa  Times,  which,  within  a  couple  of  years,  wholly  emanci- 
pated itself  from  Government  influence. 

Meanwhile  the  sanitation,  lighting,  policing,  road-making,  and  all 

1  American  White-book,  p.  104.  The  British  Blue-book  does  not 
refer  to  the  incident  of  the  prisoners  at  all. 

239 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

necessary  works  of  the  Municipality  were  at  a  standstill  (213),  and  the 
monthly  service  of  mail-steamers,  on  which  the  prosperity  of  the  place 
largely  depended,  was  seriously  imperilled  by  a  refusal  to  give  the 
company  more  than  half  the  very  moderate  subsidy  for  which  it  asked 
(263).  And  as  far  as  the  natives  were  concerned,  the  Government,  to 
all  intents  and  purposes,  was  non-existent. 

It  is  mere  weariness  to  add  that  the  President,  having  combined  the 
funds  of  the  Government  and  of  the  Municipality,  and  lodged  the 
balance  in  his  own  name  in  a  bank  in  Sydney,  denied  the  right  of 
either  the  Samoan  Government  or  the  Municipality  to  interfere,  on  the 
ground  that  the  whole  sum  belonged  to  neither  one  of  them,  nor 
would  he  allow  the  auditors  of  the  Municipal  accounts  to  verify  the 
Municipal  balance  (265,  encl.  i).  "  The  Berlin  Act,"  he  said,  "  con- 
tained certain  provisions  adapted  to  the  purpose  of  securing  the 
selection  of  conscientious  persons  to  my  office  "  (243). 

These  facts,  I  must  repeat,  are  not  drawn  from  any  statement  of 
Stevenson;  they  are  not  due  to  any  imagination  of  my  own:  they  are 
taken  from  the  matter-of-fact  reports  of  the  Consuls,  who  forwarded 
them  to  their  Governments  as  material  for  negotiations  between  the 
Great  Powers  concerned.  There  are  many  ridiculous  details  I  have 
omitted,  there  are  many  other  disputes  on  all  sorts  of  petty  questions. 
But  into  these  and  the  other  charges  contained  in  the  letters  to  the 
Times  it  is  unnecessary  to  go;  they  require  more  explanation,  they 
would  be  more  tedious  to  narrate,  they  are  equally  futile,  more  ridic- 
ulous it  is  hardly  possible  for  them  to  be. 

The  criticism  with  which  Stevenson  summed  up  one  of  these  gentle- 
men might  equally  be  applied  to  the  other.  "  Such  an  official  I  never 
remember  to  have  read  of,  though  I  have  seen  the  like  from  across  the 
footlights  and  the  orchestra,  evolving  in  similar  figures  to  the  strains  of 
Offenbach." 

As  to  the  question  of  Stevenson's  deportation,  which  occurs  oc- 
casionally in  his  letters,  and  was  at  one  time  constantly  present  before 
his  eyes,  he  firmly  believed  what  is  probably  the  truth  —  that  it  had 
been  demanded  by  Chief-Justice  Cedercrantz  and  President  von  Pilsach 
on  account  of  his  letters  to  the  Times,  and  that  the  captains  of  various 
ships,  having  been  sounded  upon  the  subject,  had  refused  their  co- 
operation. The  only  fact  which  is  quite  certain  is  that  the  High  Com- 
missioner of  the  Western  Pacific,  the  Governor  of  Fiji,  issued  on 

240 


APPENDIX  D 

December  29th,  1892,  a  notice  entitled  "  The  Sedition  (Samoa)  Regu- 
lation, 1892,"  which  rendered  any  British  subject  guilty  of  "  sedition  " 
against  the  "Government  of  Samoa"  liable,  on  conviction,  to  im- 
prisonment for  not  more  than  three  months.  It  placed  the  right  of 
defining  the  words  "  Government  of  Samoa  "  in  the  hands  of  the  British 
Consul  at  Apia,  and  explicitly  included  in  the  word  "  sedition  "  "  all 
practices,  whether  by  word,  deed,  or  writing,  having  for  their  object 
to  bring  about  in  Samoa  discontent  or  dissatisfaction,  public  dis- 
turbance, civil  war,  hatred  or  contempt  toward  the  King  or  Govern- 
ment of  Samoa,  or  the  laws  or  constitution  of  the  country,  and 
generally  to  promote  disorder  in  Samoa." 

At  the  time  of  its  publication,  no  British  subject  had,  so  far  as  is 
known,  been  guilty  of  fomenting  sedition  in  Samoa,  and  if  it  were 
necessary  to  find  a  pretext  for  putting  it  in  force,  Stevenson's  letters 
to  the  Times  were  the  only  existing  printed  utterance  which  would 
have  fallen  within  the  sweep  even  of  that  all-embracing  net. 

Had  the  Regulation  been  put  in  force  generally,  it  would  probably 
have  resulted  in  the  imprisonment  of  the  entire  British  population  of 
Apia,  for  there  was  none  so  poor  as  not  to  hold  up  to  contempt  that 
pitiable  Government;  had  it  been  put  in  force  against  Stevenson, 
there  was  obviously  no  jail  in  Samoa  fit  to  receive  him  (certainly  not 
the  President's  new  prison),  and  he  must  have  been  deported  to  Fiji  or 
the  Colonies.  But  as  soon  as  the  first  copy  of  this  document  reached 
the  Colonial  Office  in  Downing  Street,  and  even  before  a  question 
could  be  asked  in  Parliament,  it  was  amended  by  Lord  Ripon  into 
something  more  in  conformity  with  the  usual  rights  of  British  subjects. 
Its  teeth  having  been  drawn,  the  Regulation  dragged  out  an  idle 
existence,  and  I  believe  that  nobody  was  ever  punished  under  its  pro- 
visions. 

The  High  Commissioner  had  neither  visited  Samoa  himself  during 
the  term  of  Stevenson's  residence,  nor  sent  any  other  officer  there  from 
outside;  this  Regulation  must  therefore  have  been  issued  either  with 
the  approval  of  the  British  Consul  (who  was  the  local  Deputy  Com- 
missioner), or  else  without  inquiry  from,  or  the  approval  of,  any  British 
official  on  the  spot  having  cognisance  of  the  facts,  and  upon  the  bare 

1  Hansard's  Parliamentary  Debates,  Fourth  Series,  vol.  x.  pp.  1596, 
1710. 

n  241 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

word  of  the  President  and  the  Chief-Justice.  But  it  is  hardly  to  be 
wondered  at  that  Stevenson,  after  this,  was  confirmed  in  his  distrust 
of  the  British  Consul,  and  never  applied  to  him  in  any  matter,  except 
where  he  was  the  necessary  and  only  possible  channel  of  negotiations. 

It  may  be  convenient  to  summarise  briefly  the  whole  course  of 
native  affairs  during  Stevenson's  residence. 

Malietoa  Laupepa,  the  King  of  Samoa,  having  been  deported  by  the 
Germans  in  1887,  the  high-chief  Tamasese  was  then  set  up  in  his 
stead,  but  his  pretensions  were  opposed  by  the  greater  part  of  the 
Samoan  people  under  the  leadership  of  the  high-chief  Mataafa.  The 
Berlin  Treaty  was  signed,  and  Laupepa  was  reinstated  on  the  throne 
in  1889.  But  after  a  time  jealousy  arose  between  the  two  leaders; 
Mataafa  retired  to  the  village  of  Malie  (which  has  the  right  to  confer 
the  title  of  Malietoa  when  vacant),  and  he  there  remained  for  two 
years,  committing  no  overt  act  of  hostility,  but  gradually  drifting 
towards  a  state  of  rebellion.  In  July,  1893,  a  fight  was  precipi- 
tated between  his  men  and  the  royal  forces,  in  which  the  latter 
were  victorious.  The  losers  fled  to  the  island  of  Manono,  where 
a  few  days  later  they  surrendered  to  the  men-of-war  of  Great  Britain 
and  Germany.  Mataafa  and  a  dozen  of  his  chiefs  were  deported, 
first  to  the  Tokelaus  and  then  to  Jaluit;  others  were  imprisoned  in 
Samoa,  and  fines  were  inflicted.  In  1894  young  Tamasese  (whose 
father  was  dead)  fomented  trouble  against  the  king.  There  was  some 
fighting  between  the  two  parties  along  the  coast,  the  royalists  being 
aided  as  far  as  possible  by  the  guns  of  the  men-of-war.  Peace  was 
patched  up,  some  old  rifles  were  confiscated,  and  nobody  was  really 
punished. 

Besides  the  matters  mentioned  in  his  letters  to  the  English  papers, 
Stevenson's  only  interference  in  politics  was  in  the  following  cases: — 

He  was  once  voted  to  the  chair  at  a  public  meeting  in  Apia,  and 
signed  and  forwarded  to  the  President  the  resolutions  then  passed.  He 
made  two  attempts  to  bring  about  an  interview  and  reconciliation 
between  the  king  and  Mataafa,  and  this,  had  it  been  successful,  might 
have  laid  the  foundation  for  a  lasting  peace.  But  Malietoa  was  held 
back,  and  it  came  to  nothing.  Stevenson  paid  three  visits,  and  three 
only,  to  Mataafa,  when  that  chief  had  retired  to  the  village  of  Malie  as 
a  rebel  in  posse.  He  also  twice  went  within  his  outposts  a  fortnight 

242 


APPENDIX  D 

before  the  fighting  of  1893,  but  neither  saw  nor  tried  to  see  the  chief, 
who  was  miles  away,  nor  did  he  have  any  serious  conversation  with 
anybody  upon  those  occasions.  A  month  afterwards  he  sent  him  a 
letter  by  the  hands  of  the  British  Consul. 

Apart  from  these  occasions,  almost  too  trivial  to  mention,  Steven- 
son, to  the  certain  knowledge  of  his  wife,  Mr.  Osboume,  and  myself, 
took  no  action  whatever. 


2*3 


APPENDIX  E 

MUCH  has  been  said  of  the  pains  taken  by  Stevenson,  and  of  the  num- 
ber of  times  he  wrote  and  rewrote  his  work,  until  it  satisfied  him.  It 
may  be  interesting  to  compare  four  drafts  of  the  beginning  of  his  last 
and  greatest  novel —  Weir  of  Hermiston.  There  is  none  but  internal 
evidence  of  the  date  or  order  of  the  first  three  of  these  versions.  The 
story,  however,  was  begun  in  October,  1892,  resumed  in  the  summer 
of  1893,  and  taken  up  for  the  last  time  in  September,  1894.  To  the 
notes  given  by  Mr.  Colvin  there  may  be  added  the  fact  that,  as  early 
as  1869,  Stevenson  had  written  a  rough  unfinished  ballad  of  a  girl 
meeting  her  outlawed  lover  at  the  Cauldstaneslap,  from  which  the  poem 
was  to  take  its  name. 

CHAPTER  I 

IN   WHICH   LORD  HERMISTON   IS  WIDOWED 
returned 

When  the  Court  rose,  and  the  family  «am«  back  to  Hermiston,  it  was 
a  common  remark  that  the  lady  was  sore  failed.  She  had  been  always 
what  you  would  call  an  elderly  body:  there  was  no  blood  of  youth  in 


the  woman,  nothing  but  piety  and  anxiety;     Her  house  in  George 


Square  (people  said)  was  exceedingly  ill-guided;  nothing  answerable, 
to  the  expense  of  maintenance  except  the  cellar,  and  that  was  my 
lord's  own  concern  and  a  place  always  to  be  mentioned  with  respect. 
When  things  went  wrong,  as  they  continually  did,  "  Keep  me!  "  she 
would  cry,  with  a  little  fluttering  way  she  had,  and  clasp  her  hands. 
As  for  my  lord,  he  would  look  down  the  table  at  her  with  his  "  hang- 
ing face,"  as  they  call  it  in  the  Parliament  House.  "1  think  ye  must 
have  given  over  to  the  Grumbletonians,  Mrs.  Weir,"  he  would  say; 
"  I  think  these  broth  would  be  better  to  sweem  in  than  to  sup." 


no  grasp  or  force,  nothing  but  piety  and  anxiety:  a  mixture  of  the 
hen,  the  angel,  and  the  mouse,  with  perhaps  most  of  the  hen,  she  fled 
through  life  with  a  sound  of  whimpering  and  psalms. 

244 


APPENDIX   E 


CHAPTER   I 

When  the  Court  rose  in  the  year  one,  and  the  family  returned  to 

•U 
Hermiston,  it  was  a  common  remark  in  />,  that  part  of  the  country, 

that  the  lady  was  sore  failed.  She  was  known  there,  in  that  from 
a  child;  and  her  folk  before  her,  the  old  "  Riding  Rutherfords  of  Her- 
miston," of  whom  she  was  the  last,  the  mon  had  been  famous  of  yore, 

ill  husbands  to  their  wives  in  the  country ; 

^  ill  hmbands  to  their  wives,  and  famous  ill  neighbours;  ^  their  ex- 
ploits,now  that  they  were  happily  ended,  had  begun  to  be  recalled  with 

to  make  legend 

complaisance,  and  m»d»-  a  part  of  the  local  mythology;  and  peepU 

the 
taw  with  it  was  with  a  sense  of  4b»  instability  and  ^  decay  of  things, 

that  men  beheld  the  high-liairikd  and  heavy-handed  race  die  out  in 
the  incongruous  person  of  their  last  descendant.  She  had  not  been 

at  first 

wholly  without  charm     ^  ;  neighbours  recalled  in  her,  as  a  child,  a 

wilfulness 

strain  of  elfin  gaiety,  gentle  little  mutinies,  sad  little  gaieties,  even  a 
promise  of  frail  beauty  that  was  not  to  be  fulfilled.  In  the  long  gen- 
erations past,  while  a  male  Rutherford  was  riding  at  the  head  of  his 
spears  or  tossing  pots  and  brawling  in  taverns,  there  had  always  been 
a  whitefaced  and  silent  wife  immured  at  home  in  the  old  peel  or  the 
later  mansion-house. 


CHAPTER   I 
The  Lord  Justice-Clerk  was  a  stranger  in  that  part  of  the  country; 

as  had  been 

but  his  lady  wife  was  known  there  from  a  child,****  her  folk  ^  before 
her.  The  old  "  riding  Rutherfords  of  Hermiston,"  of  whom  she  was 
the  last,  had  been  famous  men  of  yore,  ill  husbands  to  their  wives, 
ill  neighbours  in  the  country,  a  fclaskguard  a  high-  and  heavy-handed 
race  blocUguardi  Tales  of  them  were  rife  in  twenty  miles  about ; 


enough  to  thoiy  repute  ;  one  was  hanged  at  his  peel-door  by  James 
the^ttr  Fifth;  one  had  fallen  dead  in  a  carouse  with  Tam  Dalyell; 
a  third,  and  that  was  Jean's  own  father,  died  at  a  sitting  of  a  Hell-fire 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Club  he  had  founded  in  Crossmichael.  At  that  very  hour  he  had  ten 
pleas  going,  eight  of  them  oppressive  and  three  before  the  inner 
house. 


(Final  Version  as  Printed) 
CHAPTER  I 

LIFE   AND   DEATH   OF  MRS.    WEIR 

The  Lord  Justice-Clerk  was  a  stranger  in  that  part  of  the  country: 
but  his  lady  wife  was  known  there  from  a  child,  as  her  race  had  been 
before  her.  The  old  "  riding  Rutherfords  of  Hermiston,"  of  whom  she 
was  the  last  descendant,  had  been  famous  men  of  yore,  ill  neighbours, 
ill  subjects,  and  ill  husbands  to  their  wives,  though  not  their  properties. 
Tales  of  them  were  rife  for  twenty  miles  about;  and  their  name  was 
even  printed  in  the  page  of  our  Scots  histories,  not  always  to  their 
credit.  One  bit  the  dust  at  Flodden ;  one  was  hanged  at  his  peel-door  by 
James  the  Fifth;  another  fell  dead  in  a  carouse  with  Tom  Dalyell;  while 
a  fourth  (and  that  was  Jean's  own  father)  died  presiding  at  a  Hell-fire 
Club,  of  which  he  was  the  founder.  .  .  .  In  all  these  generations,  while 
a  male  Rutherford  was  in  the  saddle  with  his  lads  or  brawling  in  a  change- 
house,  there  would  be  always  a  white-faced  wife  immured  at  home  in 
the  old  peel  or  the  later  mansion-house.  It  seemed  this  succession  of 
martyrs  bided  long,  but  took  their  vengeance  in  the  end,  and  that  was 
in  the  person  of  the  last  descendant,  Jean.  She  bore  the  name  of  the 
Rutherfords,  but  she  was  the  daughter  of  their  trembling  wives.  At 
the  first  she  was  not  wholly  without  charm.  Neighbours  recalled  in 
her,  as  a  child,  a  strain  of  elfin  wilfulness,  gentle  little  mutinies,  sad  little 
gaieties,  even  a  morning  gleam  of  beauty  that  was  not  to  be  fulfilled. 
She  withered  in  the  growing,  and  (whether  it  was  the  sins  of  her 
sires  or  the  sorrows  of  her  mothers)  came  to  her  maturity  depressed, 
and,  as  it  were,  defaced;  no  blood  of  life  in  her,  no  grasp  or  gaiety; 
pious,  anxious,  tender,  tearful,  and  incompetent.  .  .  . 

The  heresy  about  foolish  women  is  always  punished,  I  have  said,  and 
Lord  Hermiston  began  to  pay  the  penalty  at  once.  His  house  in  George 
Square  was  wretchedly  ill-guided;  nothing  answerable  to  the  expense 
of  maintenance  but  the  cellar,  which  was  his  own  private  care.  When 

246 


APPENDIX  E 

things  went  wrong  at  dinner,  as  they  continually  did,  my  lord  would 
look  up  the  table  at  his  wife:  "  1  think  these  broth  would  be  better  to 
sweem  in  than  to  sup."  .  .  . 

When  the  Court  rose  that  year  and  the  family  returned  to  Hermiston, 
it  was  a  common  remark  in  all  the  country  that  the  lady  was  sore 
failed. 


347 


APPENDIX   F 

CHRONOLOGICAL  LIST  OF  THE  WRITINGS   OF 
ROBERT   LOUIS   STEVENSON  ^ 

THIS  catalogue  is  not  in  any  sense  a  bibliography,  but  is  intended  to 
show  as  completely  as  possible  the  sequence  of  all  Stevenson's  printed 
writings.  When  any  piece  had  been  written  or  even  begun  long  be- 
fore it  was  printed,  both  dates  have  been  given  ;  otherwise  it  must  be 
assumed  that  the  manuscript  went  to  press  without  delay.  For  obvi- 
ous reasons  no  unprinted  work  has  been  included,  nor  have  I  cared 
to  include  ephemeral  articles  of  no  importance  or  trivial  letters  to 
newspapers.  I  should  rather  apologise  for  inclusions  than  for  omis- 
sions, but  it  is  difficult  to  draw  any  different  line  with  precision. 

I  have  used  a  table  drawn  up  by  Mrs.  Thomas  Stevenson,  and  am 
also  under  special  obligation  to  Mr.  Colvin's  invaluable  notes  prefixed 
to  the  volumes  of  the  Edinburgh  Edition,  but  in  every  case  where  it 
was  possible,  I  have  verified  the  references  anew.  I  have  also,  since 
my  list  was  completed,  seen  the  bibliography  by  Mr.  E.  D.  North  in 
the  (New  York)  Bookman  for  September,  1896. 

Capital  letters  denote  the  first  publication  in  book  or  pamphlet  form; 
italics  the  place  of  first  magazine  or  periodical  publication,  and  also 
the  collected  volume  in  which  the  piece  was  afterwards  included. 

1866. 

THE  PENTLAND  RISING.  Anonymous.  Published  by  Andrew  Elliot, 
Edinburgh.  Dated  28th  November,  1866.  22  pp.  Juvenilia ,f 
1896. 

f  Published  or  republished  in  Great  Britain  in  the  limited  Edinburgh 
Edition  only,  and  in  the  case  of  Miscellanea  in  A  Stevenson  Medley. 
Chatto  &  Windus,  1899.  Limited  edition  of  300  copies  only.  In 
America  the  Thistle  Edition,  published  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons, 
New  York,  1895-98,  has  the  same  contents  as  the  Edinburgh. 

H.  In  collaboration  with  Mr.  W.  E.  Henley. 

O.  In  collaboration  with  Mr.  Lloyd  Osbourne. 
248 


APPENDIX  F 

1868. 

The  Charity  Bazaar  :  an  Allegorical  Dialogue.  4  pp.  Privately  printed. 
Miscellanea,}  1898. 

1869. 

VERSE. 

The  Lightkeeper.     Miscellanea,}  1898. 
To  Minnie.     No.  viu.  Underwoods,  1887. 

1870. 
A  Retrospect.    Juvenilia,}  1896. 

VERSE. 
The  Lightkeeper.     Another  copy  of  verses.     Miscellanea,]  1898. 

1870-71. 

Five  Sketches  :  The  Satirist,  Nuits  Blanches,  The  Wreath  of  Immor- 
telles, Nurses,  A  Character.  Juvenilia,}  1896. 

1871. 

Cockermouth  and  Keswick.    Juvenilia,}  1896. 

Six  Papers.  Edinburgh  University  Magazine,  January-April,  1871. 
One  of  these,  An  Old  Scots  Gardener,  was  republished  in  a  revised 
form  in  Memories  and  Portraits,  1887.  The  other  five  are  re- 
printed in  Juvenilia,}  1896.  Edinburgh  Students  in  1824,  The 
Modern  Student  considered  Generally,  The  Philosophy  of  Umbrel- 
las (with  J.  W.  Ferrier),  Debating  Societies,  An  Old  Scots  Gar- 
dener, The  Philosophy  of  Nomenclature. 

On  a  New  Form  of  Intermittent  Light  for  Lighthouses.  Printed  in  the 
Transactions  of  the  Royal  Scottish  Society  of 'Arts ,  1871,  and  in 
Miscellanea,}  1898. 

1873. 

Memories  of  Colinton  Manse.     See  vol.  i.  page  47  sqq. 

The  Thermal  Influence  of  Forests.  Proceedings  of  the  Royal  Society 
of  Edinburgh.  Miscellanea,}  1898. 

On  Roads.     Portfolio,  December.    Juvenilia,}  1896. 

249 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

1874. 

Ordered  South.   Macmillan's  Magazine,  May.     Virginibus  Puerisque, 

1881. 
Lord  Lytton's  "  Fables  in  Song  "  (review).     Fortnightly  Review,  June. 

Juvenilia  ,\  1896. 
Victor  Hugo's  Romances.     Cornbill  Magazine,  August.    Familiar 

Studies,  1882. 
Movements  of   Young  Children.     Portfolio,  August.     Juvenilia,\ 

1896. 

On  the  Enjoyment  of  Unpleasant  Places.  Portfolio,  November. 
Juvenilia,]  1896. 

1875. 

AN  APPEAL  TO  THE  CLERGY  OF  THE  CHURCH  OF  SCOTLAND.  Pamphlet 
published  by  Messrs.  W.  Blackwood  &  Sons,  dated  12th  ebru- 
ary,  1875;  set  up  September,  1874.  n  pp.  1896.! 

Beranger.     Article  in  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica. 

The  Works  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe.  Edited  by  J.  H.  Ingram  (review). 
Academy,  and  January,  1875. 

An  Autumn  Effect.     Portfolio,  April,  May.    Juvenilia,]  1896. 

John  Knox  and  his  Relations  to  Women.  Macmillan's  Magazine, 
September,  October.  Familiar  Studies,  1887.  Two  Essays  on 
this  subject  also  read  before  the  Speculative  Society  on  ^rd  No- 
vember, 1874,  and  i9th  January,  1875. 

VERSE. 
"  Ille  Terrarum."    No.  H.:  In  Scots.  Underwoods,  1887. 

1876. 

A  Winter's  Walk  in]Carrick  and  Galloway.     Illustrated  London  News, 

Summer  Number,  1896.    Juvenilia ,f  1896. 
Salvini's  Macbeth.     Academy,  15th  April.    Juvenilia,]  1896. 
Forest  Notes.     Cornbill  Magazine,  May.    Juvenilia,]  1896. 
Walking  Tours.     Cornbill  Magazine,  June.     Virginibus  Puerisque, 

1881. 
Virginibus  Puerisque,  Part  I.     Cornbill  Magazine,  August.     Virgini- 

bus  Puerisque,  1881. 

250 


APPENDIX   F 

Charles    of    Orleans.     Cornbill    Magazine,    December.       Familiar 

Studies,  1882. 

Jules  Verne's  Stories  (review).     Academy,  3rd  June. 
Comedy  of  the  "  Noctes  Ambrosianae"  ;  selected  and  arranged  by  John 

Skelton  (review).     Academy ,  22nd  July. 
Some  Portraits  by  Raeburn.     Exhibition  held  in  Edinburgh,  October, 

1876.     First  published  in  yirginibus  Puerisque,  1881. 

VERSE. 
The  Blast.    No.  vu.:  In  Scots.  Underwoods,  1887. 

1877. 

On  Falling  in  Love.     Cornbill  Magazine,   February,      yirginibus 
Puerisque,  1881. 

An  Apology  for  Idlers.     Cornbill  Magazine,  July,     yirginibus  Put- 
risque,  1881. 

Francis  Villon,  Student,  Poet,  and  Housebreaker.     Cornbill  Magazine, 
August.     Familiar  Studies,  1882. 

A  Lodging  for  the  Night.     Temple  Bar,  October.     New  Arabian 
Nights,  1882. 

1878. 

Will  o' the  Mill.  Cornbill  Magazine,  January.  The  Merry  Men,  1887. 
The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door.     Temple  Bar,  January.    New  Arabian 

Nigbts,  1882. 
Crabbed  Age  and  Youth.     Cornbill  Magazine,  March,     yirginibus 

Puerisque,  1881. 
Acs  Triplex.      Cornbill  Magazine,   April,      yirginibus   Puerisquet 

1881. 
A  Plea  for  Gas  Lamps.     London,  2"jth  April,     yirginibus  Puerisque, 

1881. 

Pan's  Pipes.     London,  4th  May.     yirginibus  Puerisque,  1881. 
El  Dorado.     London,  nth  May.     yirginibus  Puerisque,  1881. 
The  English  Admirals.     Cornbill  Magazine,  July,     yirginibus  Pue- 
risque, 1 88 1. 
Child's  Play.    Cornbill  Magazine,  September,    yirginibus  Puerisque, 

1881. 
New  Arabian  Nights.     London,  8th  June-26th  October.     Book  form, 

1882. 

351 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

The  Gospel  according  to  Walt  Whitman.  New  Quarterly  Magazine, 
October.  Familiar  Studies,  1882. 

Providence  and  the  Guitar.  London,  November  2nd-23rd.  New 
Arabian  Nights,  1882. 

AN  INLAND  VOYAGE.  Published  in  May  by  Messrs.  Kegan  Paul  & 
Trench.  (In  America  later,  by  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers,  Boston.) 

PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON  EDINBURGH.  Portfolio,  June-December.  Pub- 
lished by  Seeley  &  Co.,  December. 

H.  Deacon  Brodie.  Rewritten  in  collaboration  with  Mr.  Henley  from 
other  drafts,  the  earliest  of  which  dated  from  1865.  Printed  1880, 
acted  1883,  published  1892. 

Sam  Bough.     Academy,  3oth  November  (obituary  notice). 

Reflections  and  Remarks  on  Human  Life.(?)    Miscellanea^  1898. 

VERSE. 

A  Song  of  the  Road.     n.  Underwoods,  1887. 
Our  Lady  of  the  Snows.  (?)    xxm.  Underwoods,  1887. 

1879. 

Lay  Morals  (written  in  March).    Juvenilia ,f  1896. 

Truth  of  Intercourse.     Cornbill  Magazine,  May.     Virginibus  Pue- 

risque,  1881. 
TRAVELS  WITH  A  DONKEY  IN  THE  CEVENNES.     Published  in  June  by  Messrs. 

Roberts  Brothers,  Boston;  C.  Kegan  Paul  &  Co.,  London. 
A  Mountain  Town  in  France  (visit  to  Monastier,  September,  1878). 

Published  (with  sketches)  in  Tbe  Studio,  Winter  Number,  1896. 

Juvenilia,\  1896. 

Some  Aspects  of  Robert  Burns.     Cornbill  Magazine,  October.    Fa- 
miliar Studies,  1882. 
The  Story  of  a  Lie.     New  Quarterly  Magazine,  October.     Edinburgh 

Edition,!  1895. 
The  Pavilion  on  the  Links.     Cornbill  Magazine,  next  Autumn.     New 

Arabian  Nights,  1882. 
The  Amateur  Emigrant.     Abridged  and  revised,   1894.     Edinburgh 

Edition,  January,  1895. f 
Across  the  Plains.     Abridged  and  recast.     Longman's  Magazine,  1883. 

Book  form,  1892. 

Autobiography.    See  vol.  i.  pages  53  n.,  99,  102. 

252 


APPENDIX  F 
1880. 

The  Greenwood  State  :  f      1885. 

Yoshida  Torajiro.  Cornbill  Magazine,  March.  Familiar  Studies, 
1882. 

Henry  David  Thoreau  :  his  Character'and  Opinions.  Cornbill  Maga- 
fine,  June.  Familiar  Studies,  1882. 

The  Pavilion  on  the  Links.  Cornbill  Magazine,  September,  Octo- 
ber. New  Arabian  Nigbts,  1882. 

The  Old  Pacific  Capital  (Monterey).  Fraser's  Magazine,  November. 
Across  the  Plains,  1892. 

Dialogue  on  Character  and  Destiny  between  Two  Puppets.  Miscel- 
lanea, f  1898. 

H.  Deacon  Brodie.     Privately  printed. 

VERSE. 

"  It  is  not  yours,  O  mother,  to  complain."  (In  California.)  No.  xxv. 
Underwoods,  1887. 

"Not  yet,  my  soul."  Atlantic  Monthly,  October,  xxiv.  Under- 
woods, 1887. 

In  the  States,     xxix.  Underwoods,  1887. 

The  Scotsman's  Return  from  Abroad.  Fraser's  Magazine,  November. 
In  Scots,  xii.  Underwoods,  1887. 

To  Dr.  John  Brown.     In  Scots,  xv.  Underwoods,  1887. 

1881. 

Health  and  Mountains.     Pall  Mall  Gazette,  ijih  February. 
Davos  in  Winter.     Pall  Mall  Gazette,  2ist  February. 
Alpine  Diversions.     Pall   Mall  Gazette,  26th  February.     (See  vol.  i. 

page  222.) 
The  Stimulation  of  the  Alps.     Pall  Mall  Gazette,  5th  March.     (Sec 

vol.  i.  page  214.) 
Morality  of  the  Profession  of  Letters.    Fortnightly  Review,   April. 

Later  Essays,^  1895. 
VIRGINIBUS  PUERISQUE.     Published  in  April  by  Messrs.  Kegan  Paul  & 

Co. :  including  the  second  essay  and  "  Some  Portraits  by  Raebum," 

not  before  published.     (In  America  later,  by  Messrs.   Charles 

Scribner's  Sons,  New  York.) 

353 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Thrawn   Janet.     Cornbill  Magazine,   October.      The  Merry  Men, 

1887. 

Samuel  Pepys.     Cornbill  Magazine,  July.     Familiar  Studies,  1882. 
Treasure  Island.     Young  Folks,  ist  October,  1881 -28th  January,  1882. 

Book  form,  1883. 

The  Merry  Men.     Written  June,  published  1882. 
The  Body  Snatcher.     Written  June,  published  1884. 

VERSE. 

Et  tu  in  Arcadia  vixisti.      Cornbill  Magazine,  February.     No.  xv. 

Underwoods,  1887. 

In  Memoriam  F.  A.  S.     No.  xxvn.  Underwoods,  1887. 
Not  I,  and  other  Poems.    The  Davos  Press.    Miscellanea,^  1898. 
First  seventeen  numbers  of  A  Child's  Garden  of  Verses.     Published 

1885. 

1882. 

Talk  and  Talkers,  I.     Cornbill  Magazine,  April.     Memories  and  Por- 
traits, 1887. 
Talk  and  Talkers,  II.     Cornbill  Magazine,  August.     Memories  and 

Portraits,  1887. 
Byways  of  Book  Illustration.     Bagster's  "  Pilgrim's  Progress, " Maga- 

%ine  of  Art,  February.    Juvenilia,\  1896. 
The  Foreigner  at  Home.     Cornbill  Magazine,  May.     Memories  and 

Portraits,  1887. 
Byways  of  Book  Illustration.     Two  Japanese  Romances.     Magazine 

of  Art,  November.     (See  vol.  ii.  page  57.; 
FAMILIAR  STUDIES  OF  MEN  AND  BOOKS.     Published  in  March  by  Messrs. 

Chatto  &  Windus. 
NEW  ARABIAN  NIGHTS.     2  vols.,  published  in  August  by  Messrs.  Henry 

Holt  &  Co.,   New  York  ;    Chatto  &  Windus,  London  (written 

1878).     2nd  edition,  November. 
A  Gossip  on  Romance.     Longman's  Magazine,  November  (written  in 

February).     Memories  and  Portraits,  1 887. 
The  Silverado  Squatters.     Written  in  the  beginning  of  the  year. 
The  Merry  Men  (written  1881).    Cornbill  Magazine,  June,  July.    Book 

form,  1887. 

254 


APPENDIX  F 

VERSE. 

The  Celestial  Surgeon.     No.  xxii.     Underwoods,  1887. 
Moral  Emblems.     The  Davos  Press.     Miscellanea, \  1898. 
The  Graver  and  the  Pen.     Osbourne  Press.     Miscellanea,  1898. 
Moral  Tales.     Osboume  Press.    Miscellanea,  1898. 

1883. 

The  Treasure  of  Franchard.  Longman's  Magazine,  April,  May.  Tbt 
Merry  Men,  1887. 

A  Modem  Cosmopolis  (San  Francisco).  Magazine  of  Art,  May.  Ed- 
inburgh Edition,  1895.! 

The  Black  Arrow,  a  Tale  of  Tunstall  Forest,  by  Captain  George  North. 
Young  Folks,  joth  June-aoth  October.  Book  form,  1888. 

Across  the  Plains  (written  1879).  Longman's  Magazine  (condensed), 
July,  August.  Book  form,  1892. 

A  Note  on  Realism.  Magazine  of  Art,  November.  Later  Essays, 
i895.t 

THE  SILVERADO  SQUATTERS.  Century  Magazine,  in  part,  November, 
December.  Published  in  book  form  in  December  by  Messrs. 
Roberts  Brothers,  Boston;  Chatto  &  Windus,  London. 

TREASURE  ISLAND.  Published  in  December  by  Messrs.  Roberts  Bro- 
thers, Boston;  Cassell  &  Co.,  London.  (Written  1881  ;  serial 
form,  1881-82.) 

1884. 

The  Character  of  Dogs.  English  Illustrated  Magapnt,  February. 
Memories  and  Portraits,  1887. 

A  Penny  Plain  and  Twopence  Coloured.  Magazine  of  Art,  April. 
Memories  and  Portraits,  1887. 

Old  Mortality.  Longman's  Magazine,  May.  Memories  and  Portraits, 
1887. 

Fontainebleau.     Magazine  of  Art,  May,  June.     Later  Essays,  1895. 

A  Humble  Remonstrance.  Longman's  Magazine,  December.  Memo- 
ries and  Portraits,  1887. 

The  Body-Snatcher.     Pall  Mall  Gazette,  Christmas  Number. 

The  Ideal  House.     Miscellanea,^  1898. 

H.  Beau  Austin.          ?  Privately  printed.     Published  by  David  Nutt, 

H.  Admiral  Guinea.    >      1892  ;  and  W.  Heinemann,  1896. 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

VERSE. 

Nos.  vi.  iv.  Underwoods.    Magazine  of  Art,  November,  December. 
Requiem.     No.  xxi.  Underwoods,  1887. 
No.  iv.:  In  Scots.    Underwoods,  1887. 

Nos.  xvi.,  xxv.,  xxiii.  Child's  Garden.  Magazine  of  Art,  July.  Nos. 
VIH.,  xxvii.,  September. 

1885. 

PRINCE  OTTO.  Longman's  Magazine,  April-October.  Published  by 
Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers,  Boston  ;  Chatto  &  Windus  in  Novem- 
ber. (See  1880.) 

MORE  NEW  ARABIAN  NIGHTS.  In  collaboration  with  Mrs.  Stevenson. 
Published  in  May  by  Messrs.  Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  New  York; 
Longmans,  Green  &  Co.,  London. 

On  Some  Technical  Elements  of  Style  in  Literature.  Contemporary 
Review,  April.  Later  Essays,}  1895. 

Markheim  :  The  Broken  Shaft.  Unwin's  Annual,  Christmas  Number. 
(Written  in  1884.)  The  Merry  Men,  1887. 

Olalla.  Court  and  Society  Review,  Christmas  Number.  The  Merry 
Men,  1887. 

The  Great  North  Road  (February).  Illustrated  London  News,  Christ- 
mas Number,  1895.  Edinburgh  Edition,  1897.! 

Fleeming  Jenkin.     Academy,  aoth  June  (obituary  notice). 

H.  Macaire.  Privately  printed.  Published  New  Review,  1895;  ar|d  in 
1896  by  Stone  &  Kimball,  Chicago,  and  W.  Heinemann,  London. 

VERSE. 

A  CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSES.  Published  in  March  by  Messrs.  Charles 
Scribner's  Sons,  New  York;  Longmans,  Green  &  Co.,  London. 
(Written  by  degrees  since  1881.) 

1886. 

STRANGE  CASE  OP  DR.  JEKYLL  AND  MR.  HYDE.  Published  in  January  by 
Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York;  Longmans,  Green  & 
Co.,  London. 

KIDNAPPED.  Young  Folks,  ist  May-ist  July.  Published  in  July  by 
Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York;  Cassell  &  Co.,  London. 
256 


APPENDIX  F 

Some  College  Memories.  Printed  in  The  New  Jmphion,  being  the 
Book  of  the  Edinburgh  University  Union  Fancy  Fair,  December. 
Memories  and  Portraits,  1887. 

VERSE. 

The  Counterblast.    No.  vm. :  In  Scots.  Underwoods,  1887. 

To  Will  H.  Low.     No.  xi.  Underwoods,  1887.     Century  Magazine, 

May. 

To  Mrs.  Low.     No.  xn.  Underwoods,  1887. 
No.  vu.  Underwoods.    Magazine  of  Art  %  June  (written  1884). 

1887. 

THE  MERRY  MEN,  AND  OTHER  TALES.    Published  in  February  by  Messrs. 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York;  Chatto  &  Windus,  London. 
Pastoral.     Longman's  Magazine,  April.     Memories  and  Portraits, 

1887. 
The  Day  after  To-morrow.     Contemporary  Review,  April.     Later 

Essays  ,f  1895. 
Books  which   have  Influenced  Me.      British   Weekly,    i3th    May. 

Later  Essay st\  1895. 
The  Manse.     Scribner's  Magazine,  May.     Memories  and  Portraits, 

1887. 
Thomas  Stevenson.     Contemporary  Review,  June.      Memories  and 

Portraits,  1887. 
MEMORIES  AND  PORTRAITS.     Including  A  College  Magazine,  Memories 

of  an  Islet,  A  Gossip  on  a  Novel  of  Dumas;  not  before  published. 

Published  in  December  by  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New 

York;  Chatto  &  Windus,  London. 
Misadventures  of  John  Nicholson.     Yule-Tide  (Cassell's  Christmas 

Annual).     Edinburgh  Edition,  1897.! 
Fables.     Begun. 
The  Master  of  Ballantrae.     Begun  December. 

VERSE. 

A  Lowden  Sabbath  Mom.  I    The    Scottish  Church,  April.      Undtr- 
Ille  Terrarum.  )       woods,  1887. 

II  257 


LIFE  OF   ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

UNDERWOODS.     Published  in   August  by   Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's 

Sons,  New  York  ;   Chatto   &   Windus,  London.    2nd    edition, 

October. 

Ticonderoga.     Scribner's  Magazine,  December.     Ballads,  1891. 
No.  XLII.  Songs  of  Travel,  1895. 
Winter.     Court   and  Society  Review,    December,    1887.      No.  xvn. 

Songs  of  Travel,  1895. 
Two  Sonnets  in  Sonnets  of  This  Century ,  edited  and  arranged  by 

William  Sharp. 

1888. 
Twelve  Articles  in  Scribner's  Magazine. 

A  Chapter  on  Dreams.    January.     Across  the  Plains,  1892. 

The  Lantern  Bearers.     February.     Across  the  Plains,  1892. 

Beggars.     March.     Across  the  Plains,  1892. 

Pulvis  et  Umbra.     April.     Across  the  Plains,  1892. 

Gentlemen.     May.| 

Some  Gentlemen  in  Fiction.    June.J 

Popular  Authors.     July4 

Epilogue  to  an  Inland  Voyage.  August.  Across  the  Plains,  1892. 

Letter  to  a  Young  Gentleman  who  proposes  to  embrace  the  Career 
of  Art.     September.     Across  the  Plains,  1892. 

Contributions  to  the  History  of  Fife.  October.  Across  the  Plains, 
1892. 

The  Education  of  an  Engineer.     November.     Across  the  Plains, 
1892. 

A  Christmas  Sermon.     December.     Across  the  Plains,  1892. 
MEMOIR  OF  FLEEMING  JENKIN.     Published  in  January  by  Messrs.  Charles 

Scribner's  Sons,  New  York  ;  Longmans,  Green  &  Co.,  London. 

(Begun  in  1886.) 

THE  BLACK  ARROW.     Published  in  August  by  Messrs.  Charles  Scrib- 
ner's Sons,  New  York;  Cassell  &  Co.,  London.    (Serial,  1883.) 
The  Master  of  Ballantrae.     Scribner's  Magazine,  November,  1888  to 

October,  1889. 
H.  Deacon  Brodie.     Revised  version ;  privately  printed. 

VERSE. 
The  Song  of  Rahero.     Published  in  Ballads,  1891. 

J  These  three  papers  are  republished  in  the  Thistle  Edition  only. 
258 


APPENDIX   F 

The  Feast  of  Famine.     Published  in  Ballads,  1891. 

Christmas  at  Sea.     Scots  Observer,  22nd  December.     Published  in 

Ballads,  1891. 

"  Home  no  more  Home  to  Me."    xvi.  Songs  of  Travel,  1895. 
To  an  Island  Princess,     xxviu.  Songs  of  Travel,  1895. 

1889. 

THE  MASTER  OF  BALLANTRAE.     Published  in  September  by  Messrs. 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York;  Cassell  &  Co.,  London. 
O.  THE  WRONG  Box.     Published  in  June  by  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's 

Sons,  New  York;  Longmans,  Green  &  Co.,  London. 
First  Letter  to  the  Times  on  Samoan  Affairs.    The  Times  of  March 

iith.f 
O.  The  Wrecker  begun. 

VERSE. 

In  Memoriam  E.  H.     Scots  Observer,  nth  May.    Songs  of  Travel, 

1895. 
Nos.  XXIX.-XXXVH.    Songs  of  Travel  written. 

1890. 

FATHER  DAMIEN  :  an  Open  Letter  to  the  Reverend  Dr.  Hyde  of  Hono- 
lulu. Pamphlet  privately  printed  at  Sydney,  27th  March;  in  the 
Scots  Observer,  May  jrd  and  loth;  and  afterwards  by  Messrs. 
Chatto  &  Windus. 

The  Vailima  Letters  to  Mr.  Colvin  begun.  Published  in  1895  by 
Messrs.  Stone  &  Kimball,  Chicago  ;  Methuen,  London. 

THE  SOUTH  SEAS:  a  Record  of  Three  Cruises.  Privately  printed. 
(The  first  fifteen  of  the  five-and-thirty  letters  afterwards  published 
as  In  the  South  Seas.  Edinburgh  and  Thistle  editions,  1806. 
Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York,  1896;  Chatto  & 
Windus,  London,  1900.) 

VERSE. 

The  Woodman.     No.  xxxvm.  Songs  of  Travel,  1895. 
Tropic  Rain.     No.  xxxix.  Songs  of  Travel,  1895. 
No.  xxxvu.  Songs  of  Travel.     Scribner's  Magazine,  July. 

259 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 

1891. 

O.  The  Wrecker.     Scribner's  Magazine,  August,  iSpi-July,  1892. 

The  South  Seas.     Black  and  White,  February-December. 

The  Bottle  Imp.     Black  and  White,  z8th  March,  4th  April.     Island 

Nights' Entertainments,  1893. 
Second  Letter  on  Samoan  Affairs.     The  Times  of  i  yth  November. 

VERSE. 

BALLADS.  Published  in  January  by  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons, 
New  York;  Chatto  &  Windus,  London. 

1892. 

ACROSS  THE  PLAINS,  WITH  OTHER  MEMORIES  AND  ESSAYS.  Published 
in  April  by  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York;  Chatto  & 
Windus,  London. 

O.  THE  WRECKER.  Published  in  July  by  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's 
Sons,  New  York  ;  Cassell  &  Co.,  London. 

A  FOOTNOTE  TO  HISTORY.  Published  in  August  by  Messrs.  Charles 
Scribner's  Sons,  New  York  ;  Cassell  &  Co.,  London. 

The  Beach  of  Falesa.  Illustrated  London  News,  and  July-^th  August, 
as  "  Uma."  Island  Nights'  Entertainments,  1893. 

The  Young  Chevalier.     Begun  in  May.     Edinburgh  Edition,  1897.! 

Weir  of  Hermiston.     Begun  in  October.     Published  in  1896. 

An  Object  of  Pity.     Privately  printed. 

H.  THREE  PLAYS.  Deacon  Brodie  :  Beau  Austin  :  Admiral  Guinea.  Pub- 
lished by  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York  ;  D.  Nutt, 
London. 

Letters  on  Samoan  Affairs.  The  Times  of  4th  June,  23rd  July,  19th 
August,  i  jth  October,  f 

1893. 

CATRIONA  (in  America  entitled  DAVID  BALFOUR).  Atalanta,  January- 
May.  Published  in  September  by  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's 
Sons,  New  York  ;  Cassell  &  Co.,  London. 

The  Isle  of  Voices.  National  Observer,  4th-25th  February.  Island 
Nights'  Entertainments. 

ISLAND  NIGHTS'  ENTERTAINMENTS.    Published  in  April  by  Messrs.  Charles 
Scribner's  Sons,  New  York  ;  Cassell  &  Co.,  London. 
260 


APPENDIX  F 

O.  The  Ebb  Tide.     To-Day,  November,  i893-February,  1894. 

St.  Ives      Begun  in  January. 

Heathercat.     Begun  in  December.     Edinburgh  Edition,  1897.! 

A  Family  of  Engineers.     In  course  of  writing.     Edinburgh  Edition, 

i896.f 

Genesis  of  the  Master  of  Ballantrae.    Juvenilia,}  1896. 
Random  Memories:  "  Rosa  quo  Locorum."    Juvenilia,}  1896. 
Letter  on  Samoan  Affairs.     Pall  Mall  Gazette,  4th  September.! 
Vailima  Prayers.    See  vol.  ii.  page  232.    Juvenilia,]  1896. 

VERSE. 

"God,  if  this  were  faith."    No.  xxv.  Songs  of  Travel,  1895. 

1894. 

O.  THE  EBB  TIDE.  Published  in  September  by  Messrs.  Stone  &  Kim- 
ball,  Chicago;  Heinemann,  London. 

My  First  Book:  Treasure  Island.  The  Idler,  August.  Juvenilia,] 
1896. 

Letters  on  Samoan  Affairs.     The  Times  of  and  and  }oth  June.f 

Vailima  Prayers.    See  vol.  ii.  page  232.    Juvenilia,]  1896. 


201 


APPENDIX  G 

IT  is  one  thing  to  yield  a  cold  assent  to  the  fact  that  Stevenson 
formed  himself,  as  he  has  told  us,1  on  many  writers:  it  is  another  to 
realise  by  actual  specimens  the  power  which  he  acquired  of  using 
their  styles  at  will.  .  I  have  taken  at  random  a  dozen  examples  —  nine 
from  Stevenson  himself,  and  three  from  his  originals.  I  have  touched 
neither  French  nor  Latin  sources,  and  even  in  English  I  might  have 
taken  half  a  dozen  or  a  dozen  more;  but  these  will  serve.  They  are 
all  from  serious  work:  1  have  not  gone  to  the  "  Tushery  "  of  Tbe 
Black  Arrow  or  the  holiday  burlesque  of  Ouida,  nor  to  deliberate  re- 
productions like  the  king's  daughter,  "  who  had  no  care  for  the  mor- 
row and  no  power  upon  the  hour."  Often  it  is  but  the  sudden 
glimpse  of  an  author,  always,  it  seems  to  me,  the  one  most  appropri- 
ate for  the  occasion,  and  then  Stevenson  returns  to  his  own  medium, 
which  is  either  original  or  else  so  compounded  that  the  ingredients  can 
no  longer  be  discerned.  Its  strength  is  shown  by  this,  that  the  best 
passages  are  the  most  individual.  If  it  is  all  imitation  of  somebody 
else,  I  should  be  glad  to  know  where  to  find  other  works  in  the  style, 
for  instance,  of  those  introductions,  that  were  the  only  reading  of 
Thomas  Stevenson  in  his  latest  and  darkest  hours;  or  in  the  style  of 
the  four  Scottish  novels,  culminating  in  the  Weir  of  Hermiston,  so 
nobly  praised  by  T.  E.  Brown:  "  If  the  century  runs  out  upon  this 
final  chord,  what  more  do  I  want  ?  Let  me  die  with  the  sough  of  it 
in  my  ears.  It  is  enough:  Nunc  dimittis,  Domine." 

Stevenson  took  the  best  wherever  he  found  it;  that  he  rendered  it 
to  the  world  again  with  interest,  even  some  of  the  following  examples 
will  show: — 

A.  After  the  first  day,  although  sometimes  I  was  hurt  and  distant  in 
manner,  I  still  kept  my  patience;  and  as  for  her,  poor  soul!  she  had 
come  to  regard  me  as  a  god.  She  loved  to  eat  out  of  my  hand.  She 
was  patient,  elegant  in  form,  the  colour  of  an  ideal  mouse,  and  inimi- 
tably small.  Her  faults  were  those  of  her  age  and  sex;  her  virtues 
were  her  own.  Farewell,  and  if  for  ever  — 

lSee  vol.  i.  p.  119. 

202 


APPENDIX  G 

Fatter  Adam  wept  when  he  sold  her  to  me;  after  I  had  sold  her 
in  my  turn,  I  was  tempted  to  follow  his  example;  and  being  alone 
with  a  stage-driver  and  four  or  five  agreeable  young  men,  1  did  not 
hesitate  to  yield  to  my  emotion. 

B.  To  be  over-wise  is  to  ossify;  and  the  scruple-monger  ends  by 
standing  stockstill. 

C.  "  We  guard  this  mudbag  like  a  jewel,"  Otto  sneered. 

D.  At  one  bound,  the  sun  had  floated  up;  and  her  startled  eyes  re- 
ceived day's  first  arrow,  and  quailed  under  the  buffet.    On  every  side,  the 
shadows  leaped  from  their  ambush  and  fell  prone.     The  day  was  come, 
plain  and  garish  ;  and  up  the  steep  and  solitary  eastern  heaven,  the  sun, 
victorious  over  his  competitors,  continued  slowly  and  royally  to  mount. 

E.  The  Admirable  Crichton  was  a  person  of  prodigious  capacity,  but 
there  is  no  proof  (that  I  know)  that  he  had  an  atom  of  genius.     His 
verses  that  remain  are  dull  and  sterile.     He  could  learn  all  that  was 
known  of  any  subject;  he  could  do  anything  if  others  could  show 
him  the  way  to  do  it.     This  was  very  wonderful ;  but  that  is  all  you 
can  say  of  it.     It  requires  a  good  capacity  to  play  well  at  chess;  but, 
after  all,  it  is  a  game  of  skill,  and  not  of  genius. 

F.  Skelt  .  .  .  stamped  himself  upon  my  immaturity.     The  world 
was  plain  before  I  knew  him,  a  poor  penny  world;  but  soon  it  was 
all  coloured  with  romance.     If  I  go  to  the  theatre  to  see  a  good  old 
melodrama,  't  is  but  Skelt  a  little  faded.     If  I  visit  a  bold  scene  in  na- 
ture, Skelt  wouid  have  been  bolder;  there  had  been  certainly  a  castle 
on  that  mountain,  and  the  hollow  tree  —  that  set  piece — I  seem  to 
miss  it  in  the  foreground. 

G.  .  .  .  the  building  up  of  the  city  on  a  misty  day,  house  above 
house,  spire  above  spire,  until  it  was  received  into  a  sky  of  softly 
glowing  clouds,  and  seemed  to  pass  on  and  upwards,  by  fresh  grades 
and  rises,  city  beyond  city,  a  New  Jerusalem,  bodily  scaling  heaven. 

H.  As  if  gamesome  winds  and  gamesome  youths  were  not  sufficient, 
it  was  the  habit  to  sling  these  feeble  luminaries  from  house  to  house 
above  the  fairway.  There,  on  invisible  cordage,  let  them  swing  ! 
And  suppose  some  crane-necked  general  to  go  speeding  by  on  a  tall 
charger,  spurring  the  destiny  of  nations,  red-hot  in  expedition,  there 

263 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

would  indubitably  be  some  effusion  of  military  blood,  and  oaths,  and 
a  certain  crash  of  glass;  and  while  the  chieftain  rode  forward  with  a 
purple  coxcomb,  the  street  would  be  left  to  original  darkness,  unpi- 
loted,  unvoyageable,  a  province  of  the  desert  night. 

7.  And  then  suddenly  raising  his  arms,  flapping  his  fingers,  and  cry- 
ing out  twice,  "  I  must  not  speak,  I  must  not  speak  !  "  he  ran  away 
in  front  of  me,  and  disappeared.  .  .  . 

J.  To  oversee  all  the  details  yourself  in  person ;  to  be  at  once  pilot 
and  captain,  and  owner  and  underwriter;  to  buy  and  sell  and  keep  the 
accounts;  to  read  every  letter  received,  and  write  and  read  every  letter 
sent;  to  superintend  the  discharge  of  imports  night  and  day;  to  be 
upon  many  parts  of  the  coast  almost  at  the  same  time;  to  be  your  own 
telegraph,  unweariedly  sweeping  the  horizon,  speaking  all  passing  ves- 
sels bound  coastwise;  .  .  .  taking  advantage  of  the  results  of  all 
exploring  expeditions,  using  new  passages  and  all  improvements  in 
navigation ;  charts  to  be  studied,  the  position  of  reefs  and  new  lights 
and  buoys  to  be  ascertained,  and  ever,  and  ever,  the  logarithmic  tables 
to  be  corrected,  for  by  the  error  of  some  calculator  the  vessel  often 
splits  upon  a  rock  that  should  have  reached  a  friendly  pier, —  there  is  the 
untold  fate  of  La  Perouse;  universal  science  to  be  kept  pace  with,  study- 
ing the  lives  of  all  great  discoverers  and  navigators,  great  adventurers 
and  merchants,  from  Hanno  and  the  Phoenicians  down  to  our  own  day. 

K.  "It  is  better  to  sit  here  by  this  fire,"  answered  the  girl,  .  .  . 
"  and  be  comfortable  and  contented,  though  nobody  thinks  about  us." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  her  father,  after  a  fit  of  musing,  "  there  is  some- 
thing natural  in  what  the  young  man  says;  and  if  my  mind  had  been 
turned  that  way,  I  might  have  felt  just  the  same.  It  is  strange,  wife, 
how  his  talk  has  set  my  head  running  on  things  that  are  pretty  certain 
never  to  come  to  pass." 

L.  He  was  still  puzzling  over  the  case  of  the  curate,  and  why  such 
ill  words  were  said  of  him,  and  why,  if  he  were  so  merry-spirited,  he 
should  yet  preach  so  dry,  when  coming  over  a  knowe,  whom  should 
he  see  but  Janet,  sitting  with  her  back  to  him,  minding  her  cattle!  He 
was  always  a  great  child  for  secret,  stealthy  ways,  having  been  em- 
ployed by  his  mother  on  errands  when  the  same  was  necessary;  and 
he  came  behind  the  lass  without  her  hearing. 

264 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Academy,  Edinburgh,  i.  62. 

Academy,  the,  L  149, 161, 167,  229  n.,  11. 

260-262. 
Accidie,  i.  232. 
Acrots  the  Plaint,  1.  197, 1L  262,  253,  256, 

260. 

Adams,  H.,  il.  148. 
Adirondarks,  the,  ii.  36-44. 
Admiral  Guinea,  ii.  4,  5,  256,  260. 
Admiral*,  The  English,  11.  261. 
Aes  Triplrx,  ii.  251. 
Ah  Fu,  ii.  68,  79,  99. 
Ala  Loto  Alofa,  ii.  128,  149,  179. 
Allen,  Grant,  i.  181. 
Alps,  the,  i.  214. 
Amateur  Emigrant,  The,  i.  192, 195-197, 

206,  211. 

Anderson,  Dr.,  ii.  183. 
Antwerp,  i.  161. 
Apt-mama,  ii.  94-98. 
Apia,  Ii.  99,  113, 126, 138,  146,  163. 
Appeal  to  the  Clergy  of  the  Church  of 

Scotland,  An,  i.  167,  ii.  250. 
Appin  murder,  i.  231,  239,  Ii.  207. 
Appleton,  Dr.,  i.  149. 
Arabian  High's,  i.  67. 
Archer,  William,  i.  162,  11.  6,  9, 12. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  ii.  20. 
Art,  Letter  to  a  Ymmg  Gentleman  who 

propones  to  embrace  the  Career  of,  ii. 

268. 
Arts,  Royal  Scottish  Society  of,  L  101, 

124,  ii.  249. 
Atalanta,  ii.  260. 
Athenaeum  Club,  ii.  34. 
Atlan  ic  Monthly,  ii.  263. 
Atolla,  ii.  61  n.,  69,  89,  109. 
Auckland,  ii.  109,  178. 
"Auntie"  (tee  Balfour,  Miss  Jane). 
Australia  (see  Sydney). 
Autobiography  (see  Stevenson,  R.  L.). 
Autumn  Effect,  An,  i.  160,  166,  ii.  260. 

Bablngton,  Professor  and  Mrs.  Church- 
ill, i.  132. 
Baden,  1.  190. 
Baden-Baden,  i.  126. 
Baden-Powell,  W.,  i.  170. 


Baildon,  H.  Bellyse,  1.  84,  66, 74,  79. 

Balfour,  family,  i.  12, 18, 15 ;  meaning  of 
name,  i.  17. 

Balfour,  David,  i.  12  n.,  13, 11.  167,  202. 

Balfour,  Dr.  George  W.,  1.  212,  il.  30. 

Balfour,  Miss  Jane  ("Auntie"),  i.  14, 
53,  64,  63,  80. 

Balfour,  Inspector  General  John,  il.  38. 

Balfour,  Rev.  Dr.  Lewis  (grandiather  of 
R.  L.  8.),  i.  12-15,  52,  64,  57. 

Balfour  Paul,  Sir  James,  11.  78. 

Ballads,  ii.  76,  268,  260. 

Ballantrae,  i.  151. 

Ballantrae,  The  Master  of,  ii.  28,  37,  42, 
74,  77,  258. 

Balzac,  L  122, 147. 

Bancroft's  history  of  the  United  States, 
1.197. 

Baibizon,  i.  164-167,  200,  223. 

Barclay,  T.,  i.  146. 

Barge  voyage,  proposed,  1.  183. 

Barker,  Mrs.  Sale,  i.  229. 

Barrie,  J.  M.,  i.  36  n.,  90,  225,  ii.  147, 149. 

Baudelaire,  i.  119,  11.  202. 

Baxter,  Charles,  i.  90 ;  friendship,  L 106, 
144,  205,  252,  265,  ii.  40,  176,  180;  let- 
ters to,  i.  34  n.,  207,  208,  232,  ii.  20,  80, 
108. 

Baxter,  Edwin,  1.  146. 

Baxter's  Place,  i.  10,  22,  23,  ii.  160. 

"  Beach,"  the,  ii.  100,  101. 

Beach  ofFalcsd,  The,  ii.  99, 166, 177, 260. 

Beau  Austin,  il.  4,  5,  255.  260. 

Beethoven,  i.  148,  ii.  43. 

Beggars,  ii.  258. 

Bell  Rock,  i.  8,  9,  11. 

Bentley,  Messrs.,  i.  230. 

Bfranger,  I.  167,  ii.  260. 

Berlin  Treaty,  ii.  156, 166,  287,  249. 

Bernhardt,  Sarah,  1.  161,  184. 

Besant,  Sir  Walter,  11. 13. 

Black  and  White,  ii.  260. 

Black  Arrow,  The,  i.  246,  ii.  256,  268. 

Blaclrtcood's  Magazine,  L  16». 

Blair  Atbol,  i.  211. 

Board  of  Northern  Lighthouses,  i.  4,  8, 
24, 101  n. 

Body  Snatcher,  The,  1.  224, 11.  6,  264, 266. 


267 


INDEX 


"Bogus,"  1.  212,  220,  223,  iL  9. 
Boodle,  Miss  A.,  iL  10,  172. 
Books  (see  Stevenson,  R.  L.). 
Books  written  by  R.  L.  S.,  ii.  248. 
Bottle  Imp,  The,  ii.  130, 155,  260. 
Boujh,  Sam,  ii.  252. 
Bournemouth,  ii.  1-29,  3L 
Boycotting,  ii.  25,  27. 
Braemar,  i.  227. 
Brash,  L  223. 
Braxfleld,  Lord,  ii.  210. 
Brenner  Pass,  L  73,  190. 
Bridge  of  Allan,  L  36. 
British  Museum,  ii.  1,  24. 
British  Weekly,  ii.  257. 
Brohan,  Mine.,  L  184,  ii.  61. 
Broisat,  Mile.,  i.  184,  ii.  61. 
Brown,  Rev.  George,  ii.  151. 
Brown,  Horatio  F.,  i.  72,  233,  ii.  18. 
Brown,  Dr.  John,  L  222. 
Brown,  R.  Glasgow,  i.  181, 186. 
Brown,  T.  E.,  ii.  262. 
Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  i.  119,  ii.  218. 
Browning,  Robert,  L  119, 124,  iL  24. 
Brussels,  i.  151. 
Buckinghamshire,  i.  150. 
Buckland,  Jack,  ii.  108. 
Bunyan,  i.  39,  116,  256,  ii.  254. 
Burford  Bridge,  i.  181, 183,  239. 
Burgess,  Gelett,  iL  189. 
Burlingame,  E.  L.,  ii.  33. 
Burn e- Jones,  Sir  E.,  i.  149,  ii.  24. 
Burns,  Robert,  i.  117  n.,  166,  168. 
Burns,  Some  Aspects  of  Robert,  ii.  252. 
Butaritari,  iL  91,  99. 

Caerketton,  i.  88  n.,  146. 
California,  i.  93, 193, 198-211,  ii.  45-49. 
Californian  newspapers,  ii.  202. 
Calliopg,  H.  M.  S.,  ii.  80, 125. 
Cambridge,  L  127,  132,  148,  150,  169,  iL 

21. 

Campagne  Defli,  L  241-243. 
Canoeing,  i.  90,  146, 170. 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  i.  149,  ii.  122. 
Carrick  and  Galloway,  A  Winter's  Walk 

in,  L  151,  ii.  250. 
Casco,  the   (yacht),  iL    45-77;    masts 

rotten,  ii.  73. 
Cassell  &  Co.,  Messrs.,  i.  244,  ii.  20,  255- 

259,  260. 

Cagsell's  Family  Paper,  L  43. 
Cat- boats,  ii.  44,  45,  71. 
Catriona,  i.  16,  201,  224,  ii.  42  ;  written, 

ii.  167,  260. 

Cauldstaneslap,  ii.  244. 
Cavalier,  Jean,  i.  226. 
Celestial  Surgeon,  The,  i.  232,  iL  255. 
Celtic  race,  L  18,  27,  28,  ii.  27. 
Century  Magazine,  i.  245,  ii.  34,  255-257. 
Cernay  la  VUle,  L  152, 157,  193,  200. 
CeVennes  (nee  Travels). 
Chalmers,  Rev.  James  ("Tamate"),  ii. 

151. 
Champneys,  Basil,  i.  148  n. 


Charity  Bazaar,  The,  ii.  249. 
Charles  of  Orleans,  L  167,  ii.  251. 
Chatto  &  Windus,  Messrs.,  L  239,  ii.  254- 

259,260. 
Chaucer,  L  119. 
Children,  i.  138,  iL  250. 
Child's  Garden  of  Verses,  A,  L  40  n., 

41, 47,  51  n.,  228,  245,  254,  iL  14,  202, 

256. 

Child's  Play,  L  58,  66,  iL  202,  251. 
Chismore,  Dr.  G.,  iL  48. 
Christmas  at  Sea,  A,  ii.  259. 
Christmas  Sermon,  A,  iL  258. 
Church  of  Scotland,  An  Appeal  to  the 

Clergy  of  the,  L  167,  ii.  250. 
Clark,  Sir  Andrew,  i.  134,  211,  240. 
Clarke,  Rev.  W.  E.,  iL  101,102,  104, 151, 

183,  186. 

Clemens,  S.  ("  Mark  Twain"),  iL  45. 
Clifford,  W.  K.,  i.  148  n. 
Clough,  i.  136. 
Cockburn,  Lord,  L  11,  88  n. 
Cockermouth  and  Keswick,  i.  124,  iL  249. 
Cockfleld  Rectory,  i.  132. 
Colinton  Manse,  i.  12-15,  36,  48-68,  63, 

70,  80,  124,  ii.  249,  257. 
Collaboration  (see  Stevenson,  R.  L.). 
College  Memories,  Some,  ii.  257. 
Colvin,  Sidney,  first   meeting,  i.   132; 

with  R.  L.  S.,  L  137-139,  148,  174,  210, 

227,  239,  243,  iL  1,  9,  21,  24,  31 ;  ser- 
vices, i.  133, 137, 152,  231,  iL  1,  20,  175; 

quoted,  L  57,  ii.  28,  205,  248. 
Congreve,  i.  105, 120. 
Contemporary  Review,  ii.  256,  257. 
Copra,  ii.  91. 

Cormorant,  EL  M.  S.,  iL  81,  149. 
Cornford,  L.  Cope,  L  181  n. 
Cornhill  Magazine,  i.  165,  166, 168,  169, 

180,  204,  239,  ii.  250-254. 
Cornwall,  i.  182,  183. 
Country  Dance,  A,  i.  168. 
Court  and  Society  Review,  ii.  256,  258. 
Covenanters,  the,  i.  42,  43, 66, 80,  81,  93, 

124. 

Crabbed  Age  and  Youth,  ii.  251. 
Critical  Kitcats  (Gosse),  i.  174-177. 
Crockett,  S.  R.,  iL  79,  200. 
Croquet,  ii.  85, 143. 
Cummie  (see  Cunningham). 
Cunningham,  Alison  (Cummie,  nurse  of 

R.  L.  S.),  L  39,  40-44,  46,  55. 
Curafoa,  H.  M.  S.,  ii.  148. 
Curtin  family,  ii.  27. 

Daraien,  Father,  ii.  82-84, 107. 
Damien,  Father :  An  Open  Letter,  iL  107, 

059 

Damon,  Rev.  F.,  ii.  151. 

Dancing  (nee  Stevenson,  R.  L.). 

D'Aur6villy,  Barbey,  ii.  170. 

Davos,  i.  213-223,  229-238,  240,  256,  ii. 

253. 

Davos  Press,  i.  237,  238,  ii.  254. 
Day  after  To-morrow,  The,  ii.  257. 


268 


INDEX 


Deacon  Brodie,  L  79, 192, 193,  266, 11.  2, 

34,  062,  253,  260. 
De  Coetlogon,  Colonel,!!!.  101. 
Defoe,  L  76,  119. 
Delaunay,  i.  161,  184. 
De  Mattoa,  Mrs.,  ii.  9,  24. 
Devonia,  steamship,  L  195. 
Dialect  (we  Stevenson,  R.  L.). 
Dialogue  between  Two  Puppets,  A,  L  206, 

ii.  253. 

Dobson,  Austin,  i.  167,  ii.  212. 
Dr.  Jekyll  (see  Strange  Cage). 
Dogs,  i.  27  (tee  Stevenson,  £.  L.). 
Dogs,  The  Character  of,  ii.  266. 
Dreamt,  A  Chapter  on,  ii.  268. 
Dreams,  Stevenson's  use  of,  ii.  16-19. 
Duddingston  Loch,  i.  90,  146. 
Dumas,  A.,  the  elder,  i.  76, 89, 117  n.,  120. 
Dumas,  the  younger,  i.  162. 
Dumas,  A  Qosxip  on  a  Novel  of,  ii.  257. 
Dunoon,  i.  124. 

Dynamite  in  Samoa,  !L  158, 160,  238. 
Dynamiter,  the,  L  254,  ii.  5,  256. 
Dynamiters,  ii.  215. 

Earrald,  i.  86,  225,  ii.  169. 

Ebb  Tide,  The,  ii.  41,  42, 170,  261. 

Edinburgh,  i.  4-194,  211,  229,  ii.  28. 

Edinburgh  Academy,  i.  62. 

Edinburgh  Edition,  ii.  180. 

Edinburgh,  Royal  Society  of,  i.  25,  124, 

ii.  249. 
Edinburgh  University,  i.  6,  82,  85,  91,  98, 

226,  ii.  257. 
Edinburgh  University  Magazine,  i.  122, 

226,  ii.  249. 
Edinburgh,  Picturesque  Notes  on,  i.  88, 

150, 172,  180,  188,  ii.  262. 
Eeles,  Commander,  ii.  148. 
El  Dorado,  ii.  251. 
Eleven  Thousand   Virgins  of  Cologne, 

the  (barge),  i.  183. 

Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  1.  167,  168. 
Engineer,  The  Education  of  an,  i.  84,  ii. 

258. 

Engineering,  i.  82-87,  94,  101,  ii.  218. 
Engineers,  A  Family  of,  1.  2-10,  19,  ii. 

163.  261. 

J^Kift  Admirals,  The,  ii.  261. 
Equator,  the  (schooner),  ii.  87,  90-100. 
Examinations  (nee  Stevenson,  R.  L.). 
Exeter,  ii.  21. 

Fables,  Ii.  171,  257. 

Fable*  in  Song  (review),  Ii.  250. 

Fail-child,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles,  ii.  33. 

Fakarava,  ii.  69. 

Familiar  Studies  of  Men  and  Books,  i. 

231,  ii.  254. 
Family  of  Engineers,  A,  i.  2-10,  19,  ii. 

163,261. 

Feast  of  Famine,  The,  ii.  75,  268. 
Fergusson.  Robert,  i.  100,  168. 


i1  CI  tiu^r*Hl)    JLMJIfVCl^     1.      LVlf,     11>O. 

Ferrier,  J.  W.,  i.   106,  123 ;  death  of, 


L  247,  248,  252. 


Ferrier,  Miss,  1.  263, 1L  9. 

Fielding,  i.  117  n. 

Fife,  Contributions  to  the  History  of,  ii. 

268. 
First  Book,  My  (Treasure  Island),  L 

228  n  ,  ii.  261. 

FontaineMeau,  forest  of,  i.  141, 163-167. 
FontaituUeau,  i.  164-157,  ii.  266. 
Foot-note  l»  Hi*tt*y,  A,  ii.  166,  260. 
Foreigner  at  Home,  The,  L  63,  132,  U. 

254. 

Forest  Notes,  11.  250. 
Forests,  On  the  Thermal  Influence  of,  L 

124,  ii.  249. 

Fortnightly  Review,  ii.  250. 
Four  Great  Scotvm<n,  i.  166. 

France,  i.  71-73,  152-164,  170-174,  178- 

188,  193,  223,  241-266,  ii.  22-24, 30. 
Frankfurt,  i.  126. 
Franklin,  Henjiimin,  i.  206. 
Fraser's  M agazine,  L  211,  ii.  253. 
French  colonies,  ii.  51,  69,  71,  107, 112. 
French  language  (gee  Stevenson,  R.  L.). 
French  literature,  i.  167,  180. 
French  metres,  1.  167. 
French  poetry,  i.  167. 
Funk,  Dr.,  ii.  188. 

Gaelic,  i.  223,  ii.  78 n. 

Galapagos,  ii.  48. 

Galloway,  i.  151. 

Gas  Lamps,  A  Plea  for,  ii.  261. 

Genesis  of  "  The  Master  of  BaUantrae," 

ii.  37-39,  261. 

German  (see  Stevenson,  R.  L.). 
Germany,  L  70,  126,  151. 
Gilbert  Islroids,  ii.  81,  89-08, 109. 
Gilder,  R.  W.,  i.  246,  iL  23. 
Gladstone,  Rt  Hon.  W.  E.,  L  96  n.,  181, 

261,  ii.  7,  26. 
Glencorse,  i.  128. 
Glenogil,  i.  90. 
Goethe,  i.  122,  127. 
Gordon,  General,  ii'26,  161. 
Gordon-Cumming,  Miss,  ii.  72. 
Gosse,  Edmund, reminiscences,  L  42, 174- 

177,  ii.  122 ;  quoted,  L  207,  U.  6,  122, 

125,  207  :  services,  i.  213,  226,  231. 
Gossip  on  a  Novel  of  Dumas,  A,  L  117  n., 

iL  267. 

Gossip  on  Romance,  A.  1.  232,  ii.  199,  264. 
Graver  and  the  Pen,  The.  i.  238,  ii.  266. 
Great  North  Road,  The,  !i.  7,  266. 
Greek  (*et  Stevenson,  R.  L.). 
Greek  islands,  projected  visit  to,  L  249. 
Greenaway,  Miss  Kate,  L  229. 
Grey,  Sir  George,  iL  178. 
Qrez,  i.  157, 173. 

Hackston  of  Rathillet,  i.  80, 124. 
Haggard.  Bazett  M.,  Ii.  147, 164. 
Hair  Trunk,  The,  i.  169. 
Halkerside,  i.  89. 
Hamerton,  P.  G.,  i.  136. 


JlrtlLir  1  HM1,    A.    V».|    1.     !**«•• 

Hanging  Judge,  The,  iL  4. 
269 


INDEX 


Hardy,  Thomas,  H.  21. 

Hawaii,  island  of,  ii.  81. 

Hawaiian  kingdom,  ii.  76-88. 

Hawthorne,  i.  119,  190,  206. 

Hazlitt,  i.  117  n.,  119,  230,  232. 

Heathereat,  ii.  261. 

Heine,  i.  117  n. ,  127,  230. 

Henderson,  A.  (publisher),  i.  229,  246,  ii. 
20. 

Henderson,  H.  (of  Sydney),  ii.  108, 110. 

Henderson  (schoolmaster),  i.  62,  65. 

Henley,  William  Ernest,  first  meeting, 
i.  M7;  services,  i.  181,  255;  with  R. 
L.  8.,  1.  262,  ii.  10, 22 ;  quoted,  i.  105  n., 
ii.  189,  205  ;  influence,  L  161 ;  collab- 
oration, L  192,  193,  ii.  3,  248,  25G; 
letters  to,  L  202,  247,  ii.  14 ;  music,  i. 
148,  ii.  11. 

Heriot  Row,  Edinburgh,  i.  36,  39,  87, 
142,234. 

Highlands,  i.  84,  211,  224,  227,  239,  ii. 
69 ;  history  of,  projected,  i.  214,  223, 
231. 

Hird,  B.,  Ii.  108,  110. 

Homburg,  i.  70,  151. 

"  Home  no  more  home  to  me,"  ii.  75, 
259. 

Honolulu,  ii.  76-88,  178. 

Horace,!.  117  n.,  219. 

Huskyns,  Dr.,  ii.  148. 

Hugo's  Romance*,  Victor,  1.  166,  ii.  250. 

Humble  Remonstrance,  A,  ii.  13,  255. 

Hume,  i.  166. 

Hunter,  Robert,  i.  145. 

Hyde,  Rev.  Dr.,  of  Honolulu,  ii.  107. 

Hyeres,  i.  243-256. 

Iddesleigh,  Lord,  ii.  21. 

Ide,  Chief-Justice  of  Samoa,  ii.  147. 

Ideal  House,  The,  ii.  129,  255. 

Idler,  ii.  261. 

Idlers,  An  Apology  for,  i.  122,  180,  ii. 

251. 

lies,  G.,  letter  to,  ii.  168,  199. 
Illustrated  London  News,  ii.  256,  260. 
In  the  South  Seas  (see  South  Seas). 
Indian  Mutiny,  ii.  40,  63,  172. 
Initials  R.  L.  S.,  i.  35  n.,  168,  239. 
Inland  Voyage,  An,  i.  150, 151;  taken, 

L  170,  172,  180,  186;  published,  i.  189; 

bought  back,  i.  250,  ii.  202,  252. 
Inland  Voyage,  An,  Epilogue  to,  i.  151, 

ii.  258. 

Ireland,  ii.  2S,  27. 
Irving,  Sir  Henry,  i.  161. 
Island  Night*'  Entertainments,  JL  108, 

260. 
Isle  of  Voices,  ii.  260. 

"Jack,"  Ii.  133, 144. 

James,  Henry,  ii.  11, 13. 

Janet  Nicoll,  steamship,  ii.  108-112. 

Japanese,  i.  205,  ii.  57,  254. 

Japp,  Dr.  A.  Hay,  L  227,  228. 

JeJcyll  and  Hyde  (see  Strange  Cote  of). 


Jenkin,  Fleeming,  meeting,  i.  112-114, 
148  n.,  161,  ii.  9;  secretary  to,  i.  91, 
184 ;  acting,  i.  90,  144,  161,  162,  184 ; 
death,  ii.  11,  248. 

Jenkin,  Fleemhig,  Mrs.,  L  114, 115, 151, 
ii.  9, 11,  26. 

Jenkin,  Memoir  of  Fleeming,  i.  114,  IL 
11,  25,  258. 

Jersey,  Lady,  ii.  148, 178. 

"  Jink,"  L  108-112. 

Joan  of  Arc,  i.  167. 

Journalism  (see  Stevenson,  R.L.  ). 

Kalakaua,  King,  ii.  80,  88. 

Kanaka,  ii.  68  n. 

Kava,  ii.  140,  143. 

Keats,  i.  117  n.,119,  120,  129,  183,  ii.  118. 

Eegan  Paul,  Messrs,  (see  Paul). 

King  Matthias'  Hunting  Horn,  i.  168. 

Kingsley,  Charles,  i.  37  n.,  ii.  65. 

King^ley,  Mary,  ii.  69. 

Kinftussie,  i.  240. 

Kipling,  Rudyard,  ii.  148,  201. 

Knox,  John,  i.  160,  166,  167,  231,  ii.  250. 

Kriegspiel,  i.  233-235. 

La  Farge,  J.,  ii.  148. 

Lakes,  the  English,  L  70, 124. 

Lamb,  Charles,  i.  119. 

Lang,  Andrew,  first  meeting,  i.   139; 

quoted,  L  162,  251,  ii.  21,  168;  help,  i. 

148 n.,  ii.  6,  167;  poems,!.  60n.,  167; 

devil-box  for,  ii.  96. 
Lantern  Bearers,  The,  L  68,  ii.  258. 
Latin,  i.  5,  26,  65,  ii.  121. 
Law  student  (gee  Stevenson,  R,  L.). 
Lawes,  Rev.  F.  E.,  ii.  161. 
Lay  Moralt,  i.  97,  136,  193,  248,  ii.  197, 

252. 

Ledger,  New  York,  ii.  40. 
Leith,  Water  of,  i.  35,  46,  47, 102. 
Lemon,  Arthur,  ii.  130. 
Lepers,  ii.  81-86,  87. 

Letter  to  a  Young  Gentleman,  etc. ,  ii.  258. 
Letters,  Morality  of  the  Profession  of,  iL 

253. 
Light,  On  a  New  Form  of  Intermittent, 

i.  82, 101, 124,  ii.  249. 
Lighthouses,  i  5,  8,  11,  25,  70,  84,  85. 
L.  J.  R.,i.  107  n.,  134. 
Lodging  for  the  Night,  A,  i.  172, 180,  ii. 

251. 

Loing,  i.  151,  182. 
Loire,  i.  170. 
London,  i.  70,  135, 141, 148,  174-177,  188, 

192-194,  212,  229,  256,  ii.  21,  24,  31. 
London,  i.  181,  ii.  251,  252. 
Longman,  C.  J.,  ii.  17. 
Longman,  Messrs.,  iL  17,  171,  256,  258, 

259. 

Longman's  Magazine,  iL  14,  254-257. 
Loti,  Pierre,  ii.  60,  72. 
Love,  On  Falling  in,  iL  251. 
Low,  Will  H.,  i.  167  n.,  161,  249,  ii.  22, 

25,  33,  45. 


370 


INDEX 


Low,  Will  H.,  Mrs.,  11.  22,  28, 83. 

Lowden  Sabbath  Morn,  A,  iL  267. 
Lowell,  J.  R.,  ii.  24. 

Ludgate  Hill,  steamship,  iL  32-34. 
Lytton,  Lord,  IL  18,  260. 

Macaire,  iL  4,  266. 

Macbeth,  i.  75,  161,  ii.  250. 

Macgregor,  clan,  L  16. 

Mackay,  Sheriff  JEneas  C.,  i.  226,  ii.  78  n. 

M'Clure.  8.,  ii.  39,  47,  112. 

Macmillan'g  Magazine,  L  106, 180,  ii.  250. 

Madeira,  iL  81, 106. 

Magazine  of  Art,  i.  250,  ii.  254-257. 

Malietoa   Laupepa,  King  of  Samoa,  ii. 

166,  159,  242. 
Malua,  address  given  at,  ii.  102 ;  text  of, 

ii.  228. 

Manaaquan,  iL  45. 

Manse,  The  (Colinton),  i.  13,  46,  ii.  257. 
Manu'a,  ii.  115,  148. 
Markheim,  ii.  6,  256. 
Marquesas,  the,  ii,  48,  51,  55-69. 
Marqv.it  de  ViUemer,  i.  184,  ii.  6L 
Master  of  Ballantrae,  The,  IL  28,  37,  42, 

74, 77. 78, 258 ;  Gen>'Sis  of,  ii.  37-39,  261. 
Memories  and  Portraits,  i.  14,  40  n.,  46, 

85,  92,  117,  123,  124,  ii.  34,  257. 
Mentone,  i.  71,  135-139. 
Meredith,   George,  visits,   i.  188,    193, 

239 ;     correspondence,    iL    14,    201 ; 

poems,  i.  250. 
Merry  Men,  The,  1.  224,  225,  ii.  169,  254, 

266,257. 

Micronesians,  ii.  90. 
Minad.ventv.res  of  John  Nicholson,  ii.  257. 
Missionaries,  i.  42,  ii.  64,  65,  92,  93,  95, 

101,  150,  223,  229. 
Missions  in  the  South  Seas,  address  by 

R.  L.  S.,  ii.  83,  102;  text  of,  ii.  229. 
Moe,  Princess,  ii.  78,  74,  259. 
Mohr,  James,  iL  168. 
Molloy,  J.  L.,  i.  170. 
Molokai,  ii.  82-87,  110,  161. 
Monastier,  i.  152, 188,  237. 
Monterey,  i.  198-202,  iL  253. 
Montpellier,  i.  241. 
Moors,  H.  J.,  ii.  100. 
Moral  Emblems,  i.  237,  IL  255. 
Moral  Tales,  ii.  266. 
Morality  of  the  Profession  of  Letters,  ii. 

253. 
More  New  Arabian  Nights,  L  254,  ii.  5, 

14,  266. 
Moret,  L  183. 
Morris,  William,  i.  119. 
Motes,  History  of,  i.  46. 
Mountain  Town  in  France,  A,  ii.  252. 
Murder-book,  proposed,  i.  231. 
Music  (see  Stevenson,  R.  L.). 
My  First  Book   (Treasure   Island),  L 

228,  ii.  261. 

Names,  importance  attached  to,  i.  226. 
Napier,  Mrs.,  reminiscences,  i.  71. 


Naval  officers,  11.  81, 148. 

Navigator  Islands  (see  Samoa). 

Nemours,  i.  168, 188. 

New   Arabian   Nights,  origin,  L  181; 

mentioned,  L  172, 180,  188,  239,  iL  252, 

264. 
New  Arabian  Nights,  More,  L  264,  IL  6, 

14,266. 

Newell,  Rev.  J.  K.,  11.  102,  187. 
New  York,  L  197,  210,  ii.  33,  46. 
Nice,  L  71,  76,  252. 
Noctes  Ambrosianw,  ii.  261. 
"  North,  Captain  George,"  i.  280,  247. 
North  Berwick,  i.  36,  67,  201. 
Northern  Lighthouses,  Board  of,  1.  4,  8, 

24, 101  n. 
Noumea,  ii.  112. 
Nnkahiva,  ii.  64-66. 
Nurse  (see  Cunningham). 
Nurse*,  i.  41,  iL  208,  249. 

Oa,  Bay  of,  ii.  117. 

Obermann,  i.  117  n.,  119. 

Object  of  Pity,  An,  ii.  280. 

Oise,  i.  161,  183. 

OlaUa,  ii.  19,  266. 

Old  Mortality  (essay),  L  32, 106  n.,  247, 
ii.  255. 

Old  Scots  Gardener,  An,  i.  SO,  128,  IL 
249. 

Ordered  South,  i.  135,  214,  iL  260. 

On  a  Ori,  ii.  74  77,  94. 

Osbourne,  Mrs.  (see  Stevenson,  Mrs. 
R.  L.). 

Osbourne,  Lloyd,  with  R.  L,  a,  L  178, 
209,  218,  237,  iL  8, 15,  66,  90;  collab- 
orates, ii.  40,  90,  164,  169,  172,  248, 
259,  260,  261 ;  quoted,  L  72,  235,  iL  16, 
17,  24,  40,  76,  146,  149,  173,  182-187, 
212 ;  at  Vailima,  1L  131,  132,  134,  145, 
154,  156. 

Otis,  Captain,  ii.  47,  71,  73. 

Owl,  The,  ii.  170. 

Oxford,  L  139, 160. 

Pacific,  iL  46-188. 

Pa^et,  Rt.  Rev.  Dr.,  I.  232  n. 

Pagopago,  ii.  116. 

Pall  Mall  Gazette,  L  169,  214,  228,  ii.  8, 

263,  256,  261. 
Pan's  Pipes,  ii.  25L 
Paris,  L  140,  163,  169,  178, 184,  223,  241, 

ii.  23. 
Parnassiens,  Les,  projected  article  on, 

L  167. 

Fasten  Letters,  i.  246. 
Pastoral,  i.  89,  ii.  257. 
Pater,  Walter,  IL  122. 
Paul,  Messrs.  Kegan,  <t  Co.,  i.  186,  250, 

ii.  252,  258. 

Paumotus,  the,  ii.  68-70,  76. 
Pavilion  on  the  Links,  The,  L  201,  IL 

251. 

Payn,  James,  i.  289,  251,  IL  82. 
Peebles,  L  66,  67. 


271 


INDEX 


Peiwar,  1.  234. 

Pembroke,  Earl  of,  11.  164. 

Penn,  William,  1.  206. 

Penny  Plain  and  Twopence  Coloured,  A, 

i.  57,  69,  ii.  256. 

Penny  Whistles  (see  Child's  Garden). 
Penrhyn  Island,  il.  111. 
Pentland  Hills,  1.  88,  89,  146, 194. 
Pentland  Rising,  The,  i.  80,  124,  ii.  248. 
Pepys,  L  74, 117  n.,  222,  ii.  254. 
Pharos,  steamship,  i.  85,  ii.  43. 
Picturesque  Notes  on  Edinburgh,  1.  88, 

100,  150,  172,  180,  188,  ii.  262. 
Pilsach,  Baron  Senfft  von,  ii.  157,  240- 

243. 

Pitlochry,  i.  224,  ii.  38. 
Plea  for  Gas  Lamps,  A,  ii.  261. 
Poe,  Edgar  Allan,  i.  205,  ii.  260. 
Politics  (see  Stevenson,  R.  L.). 
Pollock,  W.  H.,  i.  149,  250. 
Polynesians,  ii.  90. 
Porter,  Bruce,  il.  189. 
Portfolio,  The,  L  135,  150,  165,  ii.  249, 

250. 
Prince  Otto,  L  120,  206,  245,  250,  252,  ii. 

14,  256. 
Providence  and  the  Guitar,  i.  182,  250, 

ii.  252,  253. 
Publishers,  i.  185, 245,  250,  ii.  17,  36,  248- 

261. 
Pulvis  et  Umbra,  ii.  258. 

Queensferry,  1.  90, 146. 
Quiller  Couch,  ii.  177. 

Raeburn,  Some  Portraits  by,  L  169,  222, 
ii  261. 

Rahero,  The  Song  of,  ii.  75,  258. 

Rajah's  Diamond,  The,  i.  181,  ii.  252, 
254. 

Raleigh,  Professor  Walter,  ii.  205,  208. 

Ramsay,  Fer<jusson,  and  Burns,  pro- 
jected, i.  168. 

Random  Memories,  i.  84,  ii.  261. 

Realism,  A  Note  on,  i.  260,  ii.  265. 

Reflections  and  Remarks  on  Human 
Life,  ii.  252. 

Reid,  Captain  D.,  ii.  87,  91,  93. 

Requiem,  i.  254,  ii.  188,  256. 

Retrospect,  A,  i.  124,  ii.  249. 

Rhone,  i.  72,  ii.  23. 

Richmond,  ii.  3. 

Riviera,  1.  71,  136-139,  152,  241-256. 

Road  of  the  Loving  Heart,  ii.  128,  149, 
179. 

Roads,  On,  i.  11,  134,  135,  165,  ii.  249. 

Rob  Roy,  1.  76. 

Roch,  Valentine,  L  244,  ii.  32,  36,  79. 

Rodin,  ii.  24, 131. 

Romance,  A  Gossip  on,  ii.  254. 

Rome,  i.  70,  72,  ii.  122. 

Jtosa  quo  Locorum,  i.  67,  77,  ii.  261. 

Ross,  Dr.  Fairfax,  ii.  178. 

Royal  Society  of  Edinburgh,  i.  25, 124, 

ti.ua 


Royat,  i.  247,  255. 
Runciman,  James,  i.  181. 
Russian  friends,  i.  71, 138, 189. 

St.  Gaudens,  A.,  ii.  33. 

St.  Germain,  i.  223. 

St.  Ives,  i.  88,  ii.  169,  181,  26L 

St.  Marcel,  1.  241-243. 

Salvini,  L  161,  184,  ii.  250. 

Samoa,  i.  169,  ii.  80;  first  arrival  of  R. 
L.  S.  in,  ii.  100;  return,  ii.  113;  life 
in,  ii.  124 ;  advantages  and  drawbacks, 
ii.  176 ;  climate,  ii.  141 ;  hurricane,  ii. 
80;  mails,  ii.  106 ;  natives,  ii.  102, 131, 
141,  145, 161,  184:  products,  ii.  139. 

Samoan  language,  ii.  99 n.,  154. 

Samoan  politics,  ii.  156,  237,  259,  260. 

Sand,  George,  i.  76,  136. 

San  Francisco,  L  198,  202-209,  ii.  46-49. 
189,  255. 

Saranac,  ii.  35-44. 

Sargent,  J.  S.,  ii.  9, 130. 

Saturday  Review,  i.  134,  149, 165,  251. 

Savile  Club,  i.  148, 149,  174,  177, 192. 

Schmidt,  President,  ii.  147. 

Schoolboys'  Magazine,  The,  i.  78. 

Schooners,  i.  146,  ii.  46,  87. 

Schwob,  Marcel,  i.  180. 

Scots  Observer,  ii.  107,  269. 

Scotsman's  Return  from  Abroad,  The, 
i.  211,  ii.  253. 

Scott,  Dr.  T.  Bodley,  ii.  10,  30. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  i.  11,  75,  76,  91, 117  n., 
125,  137, 166,  ii.  198,  202. 

Scribner,  Charles,  ii.  33. 

Scribner,  Messrs.,  i.  247, 11.  39. 

Scribner's  Magazine,  ii.  34,  77,  200,  201, 
258-260. 

Seed,  Hon.  J.,  1.169. 

Seine,  i.  170,  183. 

Servants,  ii.  114,  131,  134. 

Sewall,  Harold,  ii.  114. 

Shakespeare,  i.  75,  117  n.,  11.  40. 

Shelley,  Sir  Percy,  ii.  10, 183. 

Shelley,  Lady,  it  10. 

Shetland,  i.  86. 

Shovels  of  NevAon  French,  The,  IL  166. 

Silverado  Squatters,  The,  i.  203,  209,  232, 
245,  ii.  255. 

Simeon,  Pere,  11.  64,  65, 

Simoneau's,  i.  200. 

Simpson,  Sir  Walter,  described,  i.  106; 
canoeing,  i.  90,  151,  170,  171 ;  yacht- 
ing, 1.  146;  with  R.  L.  S.,  i.  126, 161, 
153, 173, 182 ;  presents  Woggs,  i.  212. 

Sire  de  Malttroit's  Door,  The,  i.  182,  IL 
251. 

Siron's,  i.  154-157. 

Sitwell,  Mrs.,  i.  132, 136,  223. 

Skelt,  i.  59,  67. 

Skene,  W.  F.,  i.  125. 

Skerryvore,  house,  il.  8-31 ;  reef.  L  11. 
Ii.  163. 

Smith,  Rev.  G.  (of  Oalston),  i.  13. 

Smith,  Thomas  (grandfather),  i.  4-6. 


272 


INDEX 


Solitude,  La  (Hyeres),  1.  243-256. 

Songi  of  Travel,  11.  289,  261. 

Sophia  Scarlet,  il.  166,  168. 

Sosimo,  it  133,  182. 184. 

South  Seas,  11.  50-189. 

South  Seat,  In  the,  11.  47,  61, 112,  114, 

162, 259. 
Speculative  Society,  the,  L  91-93,  96  n., 

122,166. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  L  112, 116, 117  n. 
Spring,  1.  168. 
Spring  Grove  School,  1.  62. 
Stanilao,  Prince,  ii.  61-63. 
Stephen,  Leslie,  1. 147,  149, 166, 169,  239. 
Sterne,  i.  117  n.,  230. 
Stevenson,  family,  i.  2-13,  16,  17. 
Stevenson,  Alan  (great-grandfather),  L  3. 
Stevenson,  Alan  (nncle),  L  24,  ii.  164. 
Stevenson,  David,  i.  8,  25. 
Stevenson,  D.  A.,  L  101  n. 
Stevenson,  J.  Home,  L  17. 
Stevenson,  Robert  (grandfather  of  K.  L. 

&),  L  3-12,  18,  11.  43,  89,  130,  176. 
Stevenson,  Robert  Alan  Mowbray,  de 

scribed,  i.  102-106;  with  R.  L.  S.,  L 

68,  126,  128,  140,  153,  161, 163,  177,  234, 

241,  252,  11.  9,  10,  130;  letters  to,  i. 

181,  191,  11.  163. 
Stevenson,  Robert  Louis : 

accessibility,  L  99,  ii.  12, 146. 

acting,  i.  44, 90, 144, 182 ;  appreciation 
of,  i.  161, 162,  184. 

advocate,  L  142, 143. 

ancestors,  chap.  i. 

appearance,  i.  74,  116,  it  189. 

art  of  writing,  i.  46,  117,  164,  ii.  13, 
168,  199,  200. 

autobiography,  i.  53  n.,  97. 

bathing,  i.  66, 146,  ii.  74,  123. 

beginning  to  write  a  book,  il.  38, 169. 

Bible,  i.  42,  96,  97, 112,  116,  187. 

birds,  love  of,  L  178, 223,  ii.  188. 

books,  influence  of,  i.  96,  97,  116,  129. 

borrowings,  i.  229,  ii.  18. 

burn,  i.  224,  240. 

business  capacity,  11.  39,  91,  140. 

canoeing,  i.  90,  146,  170. 

cards,  i.  43,  242,  ii.  143. 

Catholics,  ii.  151, 184. 

charm,  ii.  219. 

children,  L  138,  ii.  250. 

chivalry,  i.  162,  ii.  26,  160, 195,  211. 

Christianity,  i.  96,  185. 

collaboration,  method  of,  il.  40-42. 

courage,  i.  162,  253,  ii.  12,  194,  211. 

cousins,  i.  57  n. 

cruelty,  hatred  of,  ii.  216. 

dancing,  i.  66,  11. 153, 154. 

deportation,  ii.  240. 

dialect,  Scots,  ii.  20,  122, 191. 

diary,  quoted,  i.  127-130,  11.  52,  63,  57, 
68,  64-67,  102-106,  116. 

disproportion,  sense  of,  i.  40  n. 

diversity,  ii.  195,  204-211. 

dogs,  i.  212,  220,  ii.  9,  216,  265. 


drawing,  L  86,  86, 188,  287. 
dreams,  i.  40  n.,  ii.  16. 
dress,  i.  91, 133,  146,  192,  224, 11.  191. 
early  compositions,  i.  45,  63,  77. 
early  reading,  i.  42,  48,  66-57,  76,  116. 
earnings,  L  180,  244,  IL  15,  84,  42,  177, 

194. 

Edinburgh,  love  of,  L  60,  ii.  117, 176. 
engineering,  i.  82-87, 101. 
examinations,  i.  126,  141. 
fishing,  L  90. 

French,  1.  66,  73, 126, 127,  163,  il.  24. 
friends,  1.  102-114,  132,  133,  188.  147, 

149,  161,  173,  174,  226,  IL  9,  10,  147- 

149,  178. 

gaiety,  L  175,  ii.  206. 
games,  childish,  i.  39,  45,  49-59, 124 ; 

out-of-door,  i.  66,  67. 
generosity,  L  151,  179,  IL  49, 178,  208, 

213,  214. 

German,  i.  66, 126. 
gracefulness,  ii.  190. 
Greek,  i.  83, 11.  122. 
green-sickness,  L  100,  116  n.,  ii.  195. 
hearing,  ii.  192. 
houses,  i.  84,  35,  229, 241,  243,  ii.  8,  36, 

128. 
ill-health,  i.  86-40,  62,  134,  198,  202, 

206,  229,  242,  252,  266,  U.  2,  31,  71, 

173. 

Impatience,  i.  219,  ii.  211. 
inconsistency,  ii.  207. 
indolence,  i.  121,  231. 
industry,  L  118,  232,  ii.  200. 
intensity,  ii.  12,  32,  66,  137,  195-204. 
journalism,  i.  165,  201,  202. 
justice,  love  of,  L  104, 11. 136,  216. 
kindliness,  i.  146, 196,  ii  13,  206,  219. 
knowledge  of  Pacific,  ii.  48, 128. 
Latin,  i.  65,  ii.  122. 
law,  i.  102,  125, 127, 185, 142,  148. 
letters,  ii.  176,  203. 
list  of  writings,  ii.  248. 
love  of  the  sea,  ii.  43,  89. 
marriage,  i.  208. 
memory,  11.  23,  40,  192,  202. 
mode  of  life  in  Samoa,  U.  142. 
money,  received,  L  123,  141, 161, 179, 

208,  219,  ii.  194 ;  lack  of,  i.  98, 179, 

183,  206,  244,  ii.  177,  208. 
monuments  to,  ii.  83, 188,  189. 
music,  L  148,  ii.  11,  42,  43,  144,  177. 
name,  34  n.;  Tusitala,  11.  102. 
natives,  attitude  towards,  ii.  56,   66, 

146  ;  influence  among,  ii.  161. 
nurse  (tee  Cunningham), 
officialism,  horror  of,  i.  160,  IL  161. 
only  child,  an,  i.  57,  74. 
open-mindednesa,  1L  216. 
painting,  L  39,  59. 
parents,  chap.  ii. 
put,  love  of  his,  L  78,  106  n.,  228. 
pathos,  ii.  208. 
patience,  i.  264, 11. 12,  209. 
personal  appearance,  1.  74, 116,  il.  189. 


273 


INDEX 


physical  faculties,  ii.  189. 
plays,  i.  79,  120, 192,  11.  2-5. 
politics,  L  91,  96  n.,  ii.  26,  161,  166, 

242. 

poverty,  I.  99,  179,  205,  244,  ii.  178,  208. 
prayers,  L  44,  72,  249,  ii.  146,  232. 
printing,  L  218. 

problems  of  conduct,  L  191, 196. 
projects,  i.  79,  124,  167-169,  206,  211, 

230,  231,  ii.  6,  40,  73,  100,  163,  166, 

171,  177,  206. 
quixotry,  il.  27,  212. 
reading  aloud,  i.  66,  ii.  192. 
religious  difficulties,  i.  95,  131, 134, 140. 
restlessness,  i.  176,  ii.  203. 
reticence,  i.  188,  209,  ii.  198,  208. 
riding,  L  66,  90,  ii.  144. 
romantic,  i.  11,  28,  86,  ii.  7,  12,  219. 
Sainoan  language,  ii.  155. 
scenery,  effect  of,  i.  60,  73,  89,  220,  224, 

240,  243,  249,  ii.  104,  115-117,  121. 
scholarship,  i.  115,  ii.  121. 
schoolmasters,  i.  62,  65. 
Scotland,  knowledge  of,  ii.  78  n. ;  love 

of,  il.  68,  175. 
sea,  love  of,  ii.  43. 
shell-hunting,  ii.  66. 
signature,  i.  34  n. 
skating,  i.  90,  221,  ii.  37. 
sleep,  power  of,  ii.  191. 
Socialism,  i.  96. 
soldiers,  i.  45,  54,  234. 
"  songstry,"  i.  37. 

"  Sprite,"  i.  177, 178,  il.  10, 18,  206. 
sternness,  ii.  210. 
style,  i.  164,  166,  ii.  121,  122, 196,  200, 

262  ;  love  of,  i.  46,  ii.  193. 
sympathy,  ii.  206. 
talk,  L  175,  ii.  203,  205. 
tenderness,  i.  30,  32,  146,  ii.  210,  211. 
testimonial,  i.  227. 
tobogganing,  i.  221. 
tolerance,  ii,  215. 

travels,  i.  70-73 ;  places  visited,  L 150  n. 
unreasonable,  L  219. 
unruly,  i.  93. 
vanity,  ii.  207. 
verses,  L  121,  245,  IL  165. 
voice,  ii.  191. 

walks,  i.  126,  146,  150-152,  192,  218. 
war  game,  i.  233. 
weeding,  ii.  114,  137. 
wine,  ii.  22,  136, 174. 
wood-engraving,  i.  237,  242. 
women  characters,  i.  79, 191,  ii.  7,  168. 
writing,  learning,  i.  77,  117-124;  ne- 
cessity of  an  in  terra],  ii.  168. 
yachting,  i.  146,  it  44-48, 177. 
Stevenson,  Mrs.  R.  L.  (Fanny  Van  de 
Grilt),  first  meeting,  i.  173;  return  to 
California,  i.  187;   marriage,  i.  208; 
married  life,  i.  208-ii.  183,  especially 
L  210,  244,  253-256,  ii.  109,  114,  159, 
182  ;  quoted,  L  218,  266,  ii.  16,  21,  48 
73,76. 


Stevenson,  Thomas  (father  of  R.  L.  8.), 
i.  19-29,  35,  ii.  21,  especially  i.  71,  86, 
95,  134,  141,  151,  210;  death,  ii.  28, 
31,  257. 

Stevenson,  Mrs.  Thomas  (Margaret  Isa- 
bella Balfour,  mother  of  R.  L.  S.),  L 
29-33,  75,  164,  iL  28,  38,  7S,  81,  114,  123, 
and  many  other  references;  diary, 
i.  44. 

Stimulation  of  the  Alp»,  The,  L  214,  iL 
253. 

Stiuchar,  i.  104. 

Stobo,  L  239. 

Stoddard,  Charles  Warren,  i.  203. 

Story  of  a  Lie,  The,  L  196,  iL  252. 

Stour,  i.  192. 

Strange  Cote  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr. 
Hyde,  i.  250;  written,  iL  16-18,  33,  34, 
203,266. 

Strathpeffer,  L  211. 

Strong,  Austin,  ii.  123, 143. 

Strong,  Mrs.  Isobel  (daughter  of  Mrs. 
Stevenson),  i.  54  n.,  173,  iL  77,  79,  107, 
123,  143,  153,  170,  181. 

Stuebel,  Dr.,  ii.  101, 102. 

Style  (nee  Stevenson,  R.  L.). 

Style,  Technical  Elements  of,  IL  13,  256. 

Suffolk,  L  132,  192. 

Sully,  James,  ii.  9. 

Swanston,  i.  88,  89,  134,  146, 193,  210. 

Swinburne,  i.  119, 152. 

Sydney,  iL  106-108,  112, 114, 178. 

Symonds,  John  Addiugton,  L  213,  229, 
233,  ii.  18. 

Ta'alolo,  iL  132,  178. 

Tabus,  iL  229. 

Tahiti,  ii.  71-76, 107. 

Taine's  Origines,  ii.  210. 

Tait,  Professor,  L  213. 

Talk  and  Talkers,  i.  103,  145,  232,  233, 

239,  ii.  254. 
Tamasese,  ii.  102,  242. 
Tauchnitz,  Baron,  iL  166. 
Tautira,  ii.  72-76. 
Taylor,  Sir  Henry,  ii.  10. 
Taylor,  Lady,  iL  10,  19. 
Taylor,  Miss,  ii.  10. 
Taylor,  Miss  Una,  iL  11. 
Technical  Elements  of  Style,  ii.  13,  256. 
Tembinok',  King  of  Apemama,  iL  94- 

98, 109. 

Temple  Bar,  i.  180,  220,  iL  26L 
Teriitera,  iL  76. 
Thackeray,  L  76,  77. 
Thackeray,  Miss,  i.  149. 
Theatre  Krancais,  i.  Id,  162,  184. 
Tlieophrastus,  i.  229. 
Thermal  Influence  of  Forettt,  L  124,  ii. 

249. 

Thistle  Club,  ii.  179. 
Thomas  Aquinas,  i.  163. 
Thompson,  Professor  D'Arcy,  L  20,  62. 
Thomson's  school,  L  62-64. 
Thoreau,  i.  206,  206,  227,  iL  253. 


274 


INDEX 


Thrown  Janet,  I  224,  225, 11.  254. 

Ticonderoga,  II.  258. 

Time*,  the,  1.  193, 11. 17,  237,  238  ;  letters 

to,  11.  •  6,  158,  240,  241,  259,  260. 
Tobogganing,  1.  221. 
To-day,  11.  261. 
Torquay,  1.  71. 
Traquair,  Ramsay,  1.  225. 
Trmqnair  family,  1.  51  n.,  57. 
Travelling  Companion,  The,  1.  250. 
Travflt  with  a  Donkey,  i.  150. 172 ;  taken, 

i.   189 ;  written,  i.  191 ;  published,  i. 

193,  251,  ii.  205,  252. 
Treasure  Inland,  begun,  i.  228;  serial, 

i.  230 ;  book,  i.  244,  247 ;   success,   i. 

251,  ii.  1,  254,  266. 
Treasure  of  Franchard,  The,  i.  240,  250, 

11.  265. 

Tree,  H.  Beerbohm,  ii.  4. 
Trudeau,  Dr.,  ii.  38. 
TnUh  of  Intercourse,  11.  252. 
Tulloch,  Principal,  i.  211. 
"  Tushery,"  i.  246. 
Tusitala,  meaning,  ii.  102. 
Tweed,  L  66,  67,  86. 

Uma  (nee  Beach  of  Falesd). 
"  Under  the  wide  "  (see  Requiem). 
Underwood*,  i.  89,  167  n.,  ii.  36,  258. 
Union,  History  of  the,  projected,  i.  211, 

214. 
University  (tee  Edinburgh). 

Vaea,  11. 126, 128,  129.  186. 
Vaekehu,  Queen,  11.  60-62. 
Vailima,  estate,  ii.  106,  122:  house,  11. 

113,   128;  garden,  ii.   140;  situation, 

ii.  126 ;  meaning,  ii.  127. 
Vailima  Letters,  ii.  113, 136, 180,  203,  259. 
Vaitimn  Prayers,  I.  72,  ii.  146 ;  text,  ii. 

232-236,  261. 
Vallings,  H.,  i.  220. 
Vendetta  in  the  West,  A,  1.  201. 
Venice,  i.  70,  72. 
Verne,  Jules,  ii.  251. 
Villon,  Francois,  L  167,  180,  ii.  251. 
Virgil,  ii.  118-122. 
Virginibus  Puerisque,  \.  222,  260,  ii.  253. 


Waif  Woman,  The,  Ii  171. 

Waiklki,  1L  77,178. 

Walking  Tour*,  IL  202,  260. 

Webster,  L  120. 

Weir  of  Hermiston,  i.   70,  93,  il.   360, 

262 ;  written,  11. 168, 169, 181 ;  versions 

of.  11.  244-247. 
Wellington,  Duke  of,  proposed  life,  ii. 

6,26. 

Weybridge,  L  239. 
When  the  Deril  wot  Well,  L  196. 
Whitman,   Walt,  i.   102,  112,  116,  134, 

166,  206,  ii.  192,  208. 
Whitman,  The  Gospel  according  to  Wait, 

i.  166,  ii.  252. 

Whitniee,  Rev.  S.  J.,  ii.  166, 162. 
Wick,  i.  84. 
Wiesbaden,  1. 151. 
Williams,  Virgil,  I.  203. 
Williams,  Virgil,  Mrs.,  1.  203,  207,  208, 

11.48. 

Will  a'  the  MSI,  I.  73,  190, 191,  II.  261. 
Windbuund  Arethusa,  In  the.  i.  169. 
Winter'*  Walk  in  Carrick  and  Galloway, 

A,  i.  151,  ii.  250. 

Wirgman,  T.  Blake,  i.  174  n.,  iL  190. 
Wise,  B.  B,,  1L  17& 
Wogtfs  (tee  "  Bogue  "). 
Wood-engraving.  1.  237,  242. 
Wocxlman,  The,  ii.  165,  259. 
Wordsworth,  L  119. 
Worthington,  Captain,  11.  148. 
Wrecker,  The,  i.  160,  177,  203.  Ii  28  n., 

41,  42,  47,  90,  91,  108,  164,  260. 
Writings  of  R.  L.  8.,  chronological  list, 

ii.  248. 

Wrong  Box.  The,  11.  39,  42,  259. 
Wyllie,  C.  W.,  L  238. 

Yachting,  i.  146,  Ii.  44-48  (see  Casco). 

Yeats,  W.  B.,  1.  260. 

Yothida  Toranro,  L  206,  ii.  263. 

Young,  John  P.,  i.  203  n. 

Young  Chevalier,  The,  i.  167.  H.  860. 

Young  folks,  1.  228,  246,  ii.  20,  264-268. 

Yule,  Sir  Henry,  ii.  79. 

Yule-Tide,  ii.  267. 


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